Just Writing

The Person Behind My Eyes

scotlandWhen I look in the mirror I see several things. The person I see, with her many physical imperfections, and sometimes the person others see. She’s not as bad as I think she is. And then I see another person, the person behind my eyes. And when I look at her, she seems wise. I think that she has infinitely more wisdom than I. She seems to say many things to me, and have many answers that I can’t grasp yet.

Sometimes she smiles softly at my insecurities, and simply says, “Lovely, don’t you ever change.” Or maybe, “If you decide to do something different, be brave. You can do it. You know you can.” I wish I had her confidence. I think about the fact that being a published author is all I’ve ever wanted. My whole entire life. I can’t remember not wanting to see my name on the cover of a book, behind which sit pages covered in my words. But then I start thinking. Or maybe it’s just me listening to negative voices.

Yeah, honey, you and every other person on the earth. Do you really think you’re that special? Do you really think you’re that unique? Or talented? How many people do you know who want to write? And how many of them actually have? More than that, how many of them are successful? You’re just a farm girl. Doomed to repeat several cycles of living that have brought you some joy, yeah, but a whole boat load of pain. What makes you think you could make any sort of a difference anywhere? Let alone get your work out there? Come on, sweetie. Grow up. 

But the person behind my eyes doesn’t listen to those voices. She tells me to cry if I need to, then keep my chin up and move forward. She tells me to put on some Frank Sinatra and be happy. She tells me, with all the confidence in the world, that God has a plan. And He’ll never leave me. And sometimes I’m angry at her. Sometimes I wish I could shake her until she understands that she’s the one being naive, that there is no such thing as happily ever after, dreams coming true, or people that are there for you 100% and don’t care about what you did or didn’t do.

But she doesn’t listen to me either. It’s as if she sits there patiently until I’m done being angry, and then says, “Alright, my dear, are you ready to keep going?” And then I do. And I keep writing, and I keep dreaming, and I keep wishing, and I keep moving forward. Even if I don’t know what I’m doing. Because that person is my soul, me as I truly am. And even if I feel broken, she’s so much wiser than me. I do believe her. She’s not a liar. She always speaks the truth. She knows so much more than I do. She always has. She’s got it figured out.


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