I was never really a “people person.” But what I mean by that is that I couldn’t really ever figure out where I belonged. I’ve ran in different circles and always envied those that could walk into a room and have people’s faces light up.
You know…the campfire of a human. Warming and having others surround them without even trying.
That person that you could drop as a stranger in a foreign land and they’d come back with an army.
I can remember always feeling too young in circles where I was the oldest in the room or too old in the circles where everyone had decades on me.
I suppose it’s because of this, being alone has become my best friend. Don’t misread that…I am alone but not lonely, far from actually, but those moments of silence and quiet are often broken by the reminder of where I’m supposed to be shoveling. A weird thought, actually.
Maybe that’s the best way to think about it, I almost feel like I’m always in a cave digging my way out, looking for light, which has driven me to dig in every-which-way trying to find gold. Stacking mounds of coal all around me. I search like a rat in a maze trying to find it’s way out, I drown and get lost at not knowing where I am, desperately looking for which way the bubbles are flowing hoping that I’ll have some direction. I gasp for air and cough hard shoveling the pile of coal stacked around me.
Then it happens.
Someone brings me back. I remember that my shoveling is for everyone on the train. A different kind of imposter syndrome. An owning that the path I shoveled has created air for others to breath...to follow. Some tell me directly how I have moved their lives into a path (I chuckle and push away the kindness but I love those people), others silently follow but I love those people, too.
Hmmm…pause the journal entry…I’m talking to myself right now as I write…asking, “why do I have to be the trailblazer? Why am I the only one on mission? Why the fuck can’t I take the easy path and follow in the steps of someone else?”
Then I snap back…heavy sigh
Because I’m the one holding the shovel. I’m the one choosing to do the hard things. Digging for gold and perhaps giving the coal to those that need it in order to be that campfire and burn bright.
For now, I know my place…I know the job. I’m not a campfire. For now, I’ll be the fuel. I will give so that you can warm and as you warm, let everyone feel it. Because if everyone is warmed…then it makes it worth it.
For that, I’ll dig.
All. Day. Long.
(Writing as I listen randomly to "RY X live from Lencois Marahenses national Park, in Brazil for Cercle")