I am a fiction writer who struggles with fiction. Even with a Masters of Fine Arts expressively devoted to the study of fiction. I wanted to study the land of make believe that resides in the recesses of my mind. But it’s been twenty years and I have a novel manuscript that just didn’t feel right. Wasn’t up to snuff. No matter how much coaching or residencies or conferences I took, no matter how many writing dates I set up.
It dawned on me yesterday while on my journey that the reason I’ve been having such a hard time is simple. Because you know what? This world, this dimension we’re living in, IS fiction. We are, many of us (myself included), pretending. We are born into this world completely enthralled and free. Sovereign. Yet as we grow older, we are sucked in by the agreements of our time, our culture, our ancestral beliefs that have been passed on over the years.
We begin to act on this great stage. We slip into our roles.
I’ve been playing the Fool.
The Not Good Enough.
The One Who Can Never Figure it Out.
The Good Girl.
The Good Wife.
The Good Daughter.
The Good Mother.
The One Who Fights For the Others Like Me
Subverting the Binary
What roles have you been playing, dear reader?
I am tired of the masks. The roles I’ve been playing. The Good Girl. Afraid to be Bad. But what if Bad is really Good? What if “Bad” is the way in?
What if we can subvert that notion of binary:
Accessing the Portal
What if we can integrate all of it? What if “crazy” was a portal? A portal to truth? What if “ugly” helped you fall in love with who you truly are?
Last night, in bed with my husband, I truly let myself become ugly. I saw his judging eyes, I saw my monster face. And instead of running away, I went toward the fear of being perceived as “ugly,” not conventionally beautiful. Lies I’ve been feeding myself all of my life in THIS world, stuck in a negative thought loop.
Yet as I loved my ugliness, as I embraced the horror of being truly monstrous, I was no longer numb or dead. I could feel pleasure again. Truly feel pleasure in a way I never have. And must I remind you that we need pleasure in our lives. Pleasure in all the ways. The way the light falls on the verdant grass, the way a body of water shimmers in the sun. The warmth of your compassionate hand on your heart. How each of us are jewels, if only we would remember.
The portal was open. And I was no longer pretending.
I am remembering.