Paradise Found

I

Every woman is on a journey—a journey of self-discovery, and self-acceptance.  A woman’s heart, and her mind, and her world, and her body, are the turnstiles of that journey.  They are deep and mysterious realms that have hidden corners, and dark and forsaken places, as well as places of absolute brilliance and joy; where beauty floats, and swirls, and inhales, and exhales that woman’s peculiar essence, and rhythm; …where she finds her true-self, and all of the things that she loves, or would love, or could love, or should love, but cannot.  …Places where she is brazen and vulnerable; accepted, and ugly; lovable, and unlovable... all on the turn of a phrase or the touch of a lover’s hand…  I say that she is on a journey because these magical, these sacred and forbidden places, are not all her own—she does not own them, any more than one can own a tear that has fallen from one’s eyes, or one’s innocence, once it has been lost...  They are a part of her “self”, and her experience—they are elements of her world, and her past, and her body—none of which are all hers... and so she journeys to them, and from them, and through them, and in them, and with them she communes with herself, and with what she values for a time, before she is compelled to return to her life’s routine, where she is only half of this other self—half as good, half as evil, half as interesting, and half as essential to her life.

II

Paradise is not about running away to, but about no longer running away from… It is not about being swept up, but about lovingly embracing a moment of perfection and holding it to one’s bosom and never letting go… It is about making who you truly are “acceptable” as an everyday lifestyle.  It is about accepting all opinions of yourself without anguish, knowing that, “Yes, it’s true; I have been all of those things at one time or another in my life, or in my mind, but now I live differently; I will confess who I was, if you will confess who I am!  I will accept what I was, if you will accept who I am!”  These are the conversations I now have with my heart, and with my mirror—and on occasion, I even have them with my fellowman…

III

Of all the things I ever found, the most meaningful was when I found relief from the weight of life’s expectations.  I say life’s expectations because it was not just my own expectations of myself, or my loved ones’ expectations of me that I needed relief from—I needed relief from the very concept of expecting things from life.  By this, I am of course referring to the unhealthy expectations we have of ourselves and of others, and the people we love.  We expect them, and they expect us, till none of us are happy.  By training myself to turn off my mind, and open my senses to what is going on in the world around me; by seeking out quiet and solitary places, places of inspiration, and places that compel introspection, I have learned to cherish the communication of the cold wind upon my skin, as well as the painful bite of rocks beneath my shoeless feet.  They let me know that I am alive!  That I am connected to something greater than myself; greater than the bullshit that starts me to brooding when I’m not in tune with this… whatever the problem, whatever the pain, the cold wind, and the unpolished stones, remind me that I am alive; that life is not perfect, and that small efforts at something worthwhile are better than hours wasted obsessively kicking oneself over a litany of unrealized expectations.