Goodbye Espresso

Posted by on 10.14.10 | 1 Comment
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I didn’t go to work today.  I was lonely for me so I stayed home with myself.  I did a load of laundry.  I sorted my hall closet, my bathroom cabinet and my secret stash places and filled the back-seat of my car with expensive stuff that once had meaning.  The things I decided to let go of looked like a pile of someone else’s stuff and the idea that I was either no longer me or had been someone else before hit home. 

This summer, “I” canned.  “I” picked huckleberries in the pouring rain two days straight.  “I” spoke my truth and faced my deepest fear – that I am truly unloveable.  “I” laid on warm granite in the middle of Yosemite and watched the stars all night.  “I” drove a big, hunkin’ RV across the state alone.  And, now, “I” am about to take my once beloved espresso machine to the nearest Goodwill.

The “me” that I thought I would be is nothing like I actually am.  That “me” was supposed to be successful in her own-right.  She was supposed to have manicured nails.  She was supposed to be married to a rich, handsome and really hooked-on-her man.  She wasn’t supposed to spend all day Saturday picking green tomatoes and laughing at a crazy parrot.  Her hair wasn’t supposed to fall out by the fist-full. She wasn’t supposed to be closest to God in her own kitchen or while sitting on a rock someplace.  She wasn’t even supposed to really care about God except for the measly, superficial extent her culture dictated.

There are times when it is obvious that the layers of cultural programming and conditioning have just begun to be sanded off.  It’s like the “I” is still covered by haze and experience is the buffing-compound.  Some days the image is clearer than others.  Today is one of those days.  If nothing else, it is crystal-clear that expensive perfumes and 15 pairs of high heels are as out of place in my house now as electric cars are on a Phoenix freeway. 

My intention is to be me all day – to can tomato sauce, volunteer at a community garden, play with my dog and breathe easy.  My hope is that today’s experiences will polish off more of the haze of who I thought I wanted to be and that tomorrow more “stuff” – both the physical stuff and the mental/emotional/spiritual stuff — which no longer represent me will meet the same fate as the espresso machine.



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