Part Three
Perfection, right? No. It’s just the illusion of perfection.
All of these facts are true, but there’s more. Over the years, I’ve developed
significant allergic rejections of a dozen common foods. I’ve developed
obsessions that last for several weeks or months only to be dropped and
replaced (minimalism, naturalism, vegetarianism, entrepreneurship,
non-consumerism, women’s rights, urban planning, running, etc.). I have come to
require an almost sterile environment that must be clean with everything in its
designated place at all times. I completely change the arrangements of my
furniture so often that my family can’t figure out where to sit. I have to go
to elaborate meditative and yogic lengths to get out of my constant mental
chatter for a moment of peace from my overactive mind. I journal like a beastly
Hemingway. I have not been well, but I sure have looked well. For all observable purposes, I’m doing a
great job with this life. The illusion of a perfect life.
The allergic reactions to foods got the best of me last
year. I was experiencing rashes, panic/anxiety attacks, severe digestive
issues, and a seemingly absurd desire to run screaming from my perfect job.
During one of our daily coffee talk couch times before getting kids up and
ready for the day, Stephen and I decided to budget for an alternative doctor
that a friend of ours had recommended. Her approach was reportedly holistic and
largely homeopathic, though she had impressive credentials in western and
eastern medicine. My subsequent work with her resulted in a monumental
fortifying of the digestive track and various organs and most significantly a
clearing of the energetic and spiritual conflicts in several of my chakras.
With transformation came a bit of calm and an absence of anxiety, tension,
nervousness, and compulsivity that I had not even realized had been with me
daily since at least adolescence. Well, it’s no damn wonder!
And with this transformation came more presence and less
urgency. Not perfect, just more. Everything became less perfect, more real, and
more relaxed. As I became less perfect to myself, I began to experience more
actual joy and pleasure rather than the illusion of such perfect things. And
then, when I was least expecting such a fine announcement, my husband who is of
great heart and total sexiness tells me over coffee that he’d quite like to
have a baby with me. YES, screams my enthusiastic but relatively aging ovaries!
YES, screams my heart to the absolute love of my life as we rub each others’
feet, talking eye-to-eye on our sunroom couch. YES, screams my restless mind
always stretching toward the next new challenging change in life and identity.
YIKES, screams the almost-menopausal goddess who had been most recently getting
very excited about the freedom of a well-earned cronehood. So I said yes. Why
not have another new beginning in the most primal way there is such a thing?
And why not do it like an almost crone would do it? With total abandon of
following society’s expectations and illusions. With a total openness to the
natural unfolding of life with all its blunders and without all its judgements.
I’ll take this adventure without contrived constrictions. So what is that going
to look like? I HAVE NO IDEA! Well, that’s never really true is it? I do have some
ideas that I’ve been savoring.
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