Tuesday, December 30, 2014


So often I feel like I am still finding my voice.
Approaching 30, I wonder why this is not yet something nestled snugly under my belt--a voice that I am confident to call my own.

By now, I should be certain and self-assured--about at least something!
But I have not learned to lay my certainties strategically. They seem to fall short, always on fault lines that shift with the ground beneath my feet.

This is not intentional. I am well educated and well traveled. I have learned things. I have seen things. I have thought and believed things. But everyday brings a new reality, a new challenge, a new question. And when I hold up my convictions like offerings to the alter of my voice, they are tiny balls of hail--collected through the storms and melted by the sun. Their watermarks make far less convincing an impression.

I question my memories and reconsider. Perhaps these beliefs and convictions were only the manifestation of an emotional state of being. Then, how can I be sure about something so transient? I shed another skin and those beliefs shed with them. Transforming to my next state. Butterfly, egg, caterpillar, cocoon. Endless.

So, I've been attempting to dwell in uncertainty. But this is dangerous territory. It is scaling the edge of a rocky canyon, tightrope walking across a fiery pit, exposing your heart, naked, to the elements. Hoping, always, for a favourable wind and encouraging words.

The trouble is, dwelling in uncertainty requires an element of conviction. A certainty that this is the final resting place and no further movement is necessary. Becoming sure and comfortable, starts to feel unsettling. And we find ourselves in a conundrum, which I imagine, is the door to the next phase. A trap door at the bottom a very very deep well.

Where on earth does it go?

All bets: to my voice.

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