I don’t know whether I was born with the perception that I could do anything or whether that came later.
In my early years, I’m sure this came across to my elders as a cockiness of sorts and I’m sure it annoyed a great many before I became aware of others’ perceptions. I was always the one saying, “I know how to do that”, or “let me try…I know what I’m doing.”
I’ll not lie…my undying belief in myself led to a lot of mistakes and I’ve had to become familiar with apologizing. Over time, I’ve learned to admit, “I’m not sure…” and “I have absolutely no idea”. This way I don’t disappoint myself or, more importantly, others.
When I was a kid, I was invincible. I challenged the fastest kids to races and I don’t remember the losing part, only the “I’ll get better and win next time” running through my head.
When my shoulder dislocated for the first time, I thought it was just a neat trick…something that set me apart. I didn’t ever think it would hold me back. In the years to follow, I would have to learn to tell people (a lot of people), “I can’t.” That was hard enough…then came the part where I realized that not everyone believed what I was telling them. How strange that seemed to me…why would I lie?
That’s when it first occurred to me, “if I’m not believed when I tell the truth, what’s my motivation for telling it?”
I started lying…vehemently, convincingly, and without remorse. It is no exaggeration to say that it took years for me to stop lying and start trusting people to hear my truth again. I don’t tell lies anymore, not even the white ones and it is knowing this that gives me the greatest sense of satisfaction with myself. I also know my limitations and not to push myself beyond them. I can still be useful…productive, even. I don’t break commitments and I don’t create drama for myself or others by insisting I can do things that I cannot.
But I still believe (somewhere deep down in a place that I hide from the skeptics) that I can do anything.
I watched the secret on January 1 and it has changed my life. Nothing on that show was new information to me…my “airy fairy” family and friends and I have been aware of these ideas for years. It was, however, crucial for me to have something tangible to refer to when it becomes difficult to put theory into practice. If you’ve watched the movie or read the book, you know what I mean and if you haven’t, do so now, okay?
So now, let’s take stock…I have an intrinsic belief that I can do anything, no matter how unrealistic it may seem. However, this is tempered with the fact that I know my limitations and therefore know not to make commitments for which I will have to surpass them, which is what often led to the lying. I have a few secrets that I still struggle with, but so do we all and otherwise I am completely forthright and honest. I know there are good people in my life who love and support me, I know that there is no excuse for losing faith, and I know the secret is to believe. All of this makes it especially hard to accept the reality that sometimes, I just don’t believe.
Is it human nature? Is it an artist’s nature? Is it something in me that is broken that I need to find and fix? Maybe the mistakes I made along the way were too big, too many to be forgiven.
When I wake up in the morning and I have nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no obligations, I feel so useless and ashamed that I want to crawl back under the covers and sleep it all away. When I sit down with my guitar to write, I feel like all my thoughts are completely trivial when compared with what’s going on in our world. I become so discouraged that I write nothing down and much of my time is spent thinking about the blank page.
I remind myself that my job is to inspire thoughts and emotions in others by sharing mine, but I feel so heavy with a responsibility to say something good, something meaningful and beautiful to capture and comfort. My words come out sounding contrived and I feel cheap and dishonest.
I don’t want to sing about my disastrous affairs of the heart anymore. I want to talk about something that matters…the ice age that is not-so-subtly sneaking up on us, the social injustices that we’ve learned to ignore, the importance of seeing and being passionate, and of being kind. I don’t want to waste anymore words on unrequited love. I don’t want to be unrequited anymore. You love me or you don’t…I can’t choose how much or in what way it will all play out. Sometimes, no matter how much you want it, you don’t get to have it. It’s time for me to let go and keep on. I want to sing of hope and compassion and in turn to be filled with more of it to give.
Before I grew up, I thought I was really going to be something. Something special, alright. Independence was the most important thing in the world to me and I dreamed of having my own house with really great furniture and appliances that still gleamed with newness. I could picture the towels hanging in the bathroom, the clothes hanging in the closet, the bed with real posts at the corners, and the sleek car in the driveway. I saw trips around the world and never worrying about money in any major kind of way. I saw myself doing something important, something impressive, something not-just-anybody could do and I believed that I would make a positive difference somehow, somewhere.
Thirty isn’t so far away these days and the best thing I can say about my life is that I really like myself. I’m proud of the things I do for the ones I love and I legitimately know that I am doing my very best at everything I take on. This has definitely not always been the case, so now I can feel the difference. That said, doing my best hasn’t got me the house or the car or the money so I have to admit that I am still, in those respects, a failure. Sometimes it’s hard to stomach that and the self-doubt creeps into every other area of my life, making it hard to remember how to believe.
When my doubt takes over, when I feel as though I am a disappointment…a disabled adult dependent on my parents without means to ever enjoy the kind of independence I used to dream of…I start to wonder what others must think of me. Then I go spiraling into the questions, which are always rooted in the idea that the ones I love must be thinking the worst of me and just keeping it to themselves. Do they think I am choosing this? Do they think I am milking the system? Do they think I’m weak and that I could have something more if I just tried harder? Do I downplay everything to a point where they just think I’m lazy?
All our lives, we are taught that it doesn’t matter what “they” think about us. What kind of crap is that? Of course it matters what others say and feel about you, because (I realize that this doesn’t apply to every situation) it is a reflection of who you are and what you bring to others and who among us doesn’t need to look in a mirror once in a while? In the same way as there is less incentive to be honest when you are met with distrust anyway, it is harder to continue striving toward goodness when it isn’t acknowledged that you are doing so.
And so, I need Dave to send me the odd email telling me I’m a good friend and I need lin to look me in the eye and tell me I did a good job in such a way that I could never doubt it. I need my brother to write me sappy birthday cards and my sister to leave me dorky little post-it messages around my room. And if I don’t get what I need, I need to let it go and keep on.
The pains of the past keep hurting as long as you let them. They don’t just keep hurting you, though. Pain can be passed through generations. Mistrust caused by one generation’s betrayal can survive indefinitely, until someone stops it and decides to make it better.
Oh yeah, I’m that someone. I can do anything…I do believe. I’ve been wallowing and I will undoubtedly wallow again, but I will always come back to this…
I can do anything and you can’t break me.
love jasmine
