Here It Comes...A Better Version of Me

"I am likely to miss the main event
If I stop to cry or complain again
So I will keep a deliberate pace
Let the damned breeze dry my face

Oh, mister, wait until you see
What I'm gonna be..."

A Better Version of Me - Fiona Apple

The Real Me

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One of my friends jokes that I am always running around having revelations. She's not wrong. I always think it's funny that she says it like it's a bad thing.

I have indeed been 'running around having revelations' lately, the kind that lead to more than just 'ahas!' but to conclusions to long, drawn out stories.

There is the fact that I no longer want to live a life where my second-hand electronics break once a year and leave me scrambling, a pattern that has held for five years running. That I want to upgrade my dishes and have nicer meal times. That space is something I need to claim in many ways.

There is the little issue of unconscious feeling that I might need to make myself less in order to make others feel better. That revelation was painful because I was not fully aware of where it was happening. Or of the people who really apparently (still) need me to do that. Leading me to believe it may be time to send them, gently and with love, back out into the cosmos to find a better match in energy.

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The other day while talking to my life coach about this it came up that I tend to shine bright like the sun, sometimes blinding people without trying to. Though not as unapologetically. I said to her "Does this mean I have to start handing out hats and sunglasses?"

She, flabbergasted, replied "NO! The Sun doesn't hand out hats and sunglasses to everyone!"

Absorbing what she said, I think "What did I just say? Did I really just say that? Because she's so right. This is why I love her."

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This week also brought home the fact that the communication issues I've been having with certain people boil down to this; they are communicating with a version of me that no longer exists. They don't know how to respond when I don't push and pull like the old days. My exasperation feels like something different to them than what it is. A need to be seen as I am. A need to be heard in a new way.

What they see is not who I am or who I am yet to evolve into. They haven't quite rolled with that. The same is likely true in the other direction. Caterpillars about to change into different things. Moths or butterflies, each unable to recognize the other.

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Conversing with the Universe. Stretching toward the new, the unseen, that fantastic magic that waits, just there on the other side. This is the other side, the side I could never see before. It was only ever blocked by clouds, which blow slowly away with the afternoon wind. Cupping my hand over my eyes, drinking in the warmth from that glorious golden orb in the sky, I think, it's time buy a cute floppy hat.