Improbable Beauty with Fearless Wings

Driving away from Austin today, I felt this melancholy presence weighing on my body. In the midst of this glaringly hot, sweaty day, there I sat staring out the side window with my thoughts swirling in every direction. It was hard saying goodbye to Caleb, my brother, as he ventures out to Colorado to start this new chapter of his life. Tears fell from my eyes as we drove away and I thought about him boxing up his near-empty house that once held so much promise. His new job does sound incredible, though, and I can't wait to visit him in Colorado soon.

Do you think people everywhere are dealing with some sort of "thing?" I think about that a lot. What people's heart-heavy burdens are and how they deal with them. I probably think too much, but this past week I've been thinking about my "things" a lot. My heart and mind weigh heavy with the thought of losing Gus and when that time will be. I think about no more snuggles, no more wet, sloppy kisses, and no more big-dog leans against my legs. I think about Clomid and a trigger shot that did not work. I think about my hated ovaries and how I secretly talk to them, saying ridiculous things like: "Ok, you banes of my round, cyst-covered sacks, get your shit together!" I think about how many times this week I've told my friends "It's okay, it will happen when it is meant to be," and how every time I said it, in the back of my mind a little voice replied, "I hope so." I think about how blessed I am to have good friends at work who understand me and this and are willing and ready to make me laugh. I think about how I need to lose weight and how much this burdens me. I then circle back to my hated ovaries and glare at them menacingly because they are partly to blame. I think about how discipline is hard, and I wonder if this is just an excuse. I think about excuses and how much I want to punch that word in its type-face.

So, what do we do with these "things?" Where do we put them? I put mine into words and then into this blog. If I didn't, these "things" would curl up in the depth of my brain, grow old, rot, and eventually spew forth in the form of a bitter diatribe. No one wants that, especially not me. I don't read a lot of poetry. If I'm going to be honest, I think a lot of it is kind of weird and doesn't make a whole lot of sense. That being said, I do like/love/identify with Mary Oliver's poems. She speaks to my adventurous spirit. One of my favorite poems of hers is called "Starlings in Winter," and it contains this wonderful quote: 

"I want to think again of dangerous and noble things.

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings"

Boy, oh boy, how I want all of this for myself. How I strive for it! I want my mind not to be filled with my hard "things," but of noble and beautiful things. Wouldn't we all love to be light and frolicsome? I want to frolic, dammit! :) In all honesty though, when I came across this quote awhile back it has since stuck with me. It has become my little life goal. To try and live a beautiful life with no fear. To not dwell on the hard. To not get bitter over my three and a half year old doggie who probably won't live to see four. To not trash-talk my dysfunctional lady bits like a common lunatic. I want to look out the side window of my life and see me flying on fearless wings.

What do you all do with your hard "things?" How do you deal? What is your outlet?

Until next time,


Mary Oliver's "Starlings in Winter"

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly

they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,

dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,

then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can't imagine

how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard.

I want to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.