At the Helm Of Resistance, Is Change.

We grew up together. Me, young, blinded by love and quite conquered by failures of the past. You were ambitious. Following a year of triumph, you slowed down a bit. All the way down. You led me here.
We manifested destiny together. Attended conferences filled with old Christians with new perspectives; we gave insight to those who may have not heard us otherwise.

We became new, together. We saw new potentials in our wardrobe and attitude and ambitions towards new things. We started companies and then dumped them and then started them again. We learned new things. Like how to devise plans that make profit.
We made new friends, and new enemies. We spoke our mind together. Gave each other the truth between the truth, beneath the lies.
We let go and enhanced our sight by becoming. Allowing. Rejecting. We stared fear in the face, and allowed lies. Underneath the wells of anonymity we found space - to be free.

We cried together. Together, we cried. We stopped saying yes to things we hated. And instead, we said yes to the things we need. We gave up fighting against destiny. And we gave in to desires we’ve had for a very long time. And then we lied about them - keeping them under wraps until they burst out of us like a coming of age story.
We read the bible and made up songs. We did poetry on stages and put makeup on my face. We played dress up and went too far - we let ourselves go too far.

We flirted with temptation. We gave up on old dreams and then revived new ones. We read more. Books, articles, conversations, attitudes. We realized who we needed most and who we could do well never seeing again.
We were forced to reconcile with our own enemies within and become new beings, even if it meant death before resurrection.
We reclaimed our identity and somehow, felt entitled to the newness that comes with confirming what we already knew.
We are fierce together, and we are also a very sad song. A love song maybe. Or the song of defeat that ends in triumph or at the very least, revelation.

.      .      .

Revelation. That is what this year has meant to me. A very real realization that nothing is as it seems and some things just are.
This year was a blur. It wasn’t all bad. We didn’t hate each other. But the entire time we spent together was a robust miscalculation of expectation and I will learn never to expect such things from a year again. I will live within. Never wondering what will happen next or what should have happened before. I will never know what could have been and I will never know what should be.
I will attempt to never contradict myself in the spirit of forward movement and I will never force something to be that simply does not want to become.

I will cherish you however, for reminding me that life is just as it is and it will always be that. It will bend and move and flow just as we do and we have the choice to move and bend and flow with it OR we can fight and find ourselves right at the helm of possibility and perseverance. Only falling forward if we take a big leap.

And if we don’t, if we choose to stay at the helm, at the point, at the peak of resistance and persistence and stand there, scared, staring out into the unknown, we will ALWAYS be there.

It’s often a double edged sword: Unless we jump. We will stay. And unless we stay, we will never know what could be.
Happy Birthday 2019. You are officially 365 days old. I wish you well. I honor your name, and I hope you will find a special place in my story so that when we meet again in our memories, our smiles will be just as wide as our tears.