By the time I was twenty-five, I had stumbled into acquiring everything I assumed a human who might later be forced to attend school reunions should have. I had rustled up a tall, good-looking husband. I had a job title that made my parents proud, one I liked to say out loud. I had purchased a home with my husband in a quaint little suburbian subdivision with everything a first-time home owner could want short of a picket fence, despite the whole "being able to afford it" part. I finally felt like I belonged to the world, like I was enough.
Fast-forward to present. Everything I had acquired that I thought made me complete, whole, is now gone (along with a few extra things I had taken for granted that I'll just call "bonus points"). The beautiful home that I was going to start a family in burned to the ground, my husband and myself barely escaping with our lives, not to mention losing EVERYTHING. The job I had was long gone. Even the tall, good-looking husband I had "rustled" up fell out of the picture. Throw in my parents' divorce, my mother's death, along with my grandmother's and aunt's deaths within a three-year span and the picture I painted in the first paragraph doesn't sound so appealing anymore... Everything I had mistaken myself for had been systematically stripped away. I was left starkly naked. With or without my permission, life had broken all my ties that blinded. Who was I if not these things that stamped societal approval of my existence?
Like a snowball with a seed at its center, we roll down the Mount Fuji of life, amassing layers of expectations and misbeliefs about ourselves and how we should live our lives, until the simple seed can no longer be seen. This blind, insulating accumulation starts to seem like life stats taken at the the hospital: "Yes, she bought her first home, check! Blood pressure and career title? Check, check. Pulse and marriage certificate? Check."
I've learned that as humans we sometimes tumble far from our truth. As warriors, we fight to come back. We shed every single thing standing in our way, and sometimes when we we don't, life has this lovely way of doing it for us anyway. I've been asking myself a lot of questions of late, and although I haven't found the answers to any of them yet, I mull them over almost daily: Who am I living my life for? What ideas about myself are holding me back? Am I keeping my life small because of some misconception that i won't be liked if I'm successful? Am I afraid I won't be liked if I'm not successful enough? Am I afraid to move on from a situation because it would involve risk, change, and uncertainty? Am I afraid to stop eating a baker's dozen before bed because mainlining sugar is more comfortable than sitting still and being in the moment?
I'm still reading the Shambhala book, "The Sacred Path of the Warrior," in my quest for ninjahood, and Master Trungpa says "one must cut a few buds if you want your rosebush to grow back twice as abundant." Look at your life. Intuitively we all know what is not authentically a part of ourselves. We know what is ready to be clipped. Whether it's a relationship or a little habit, letting go of what stands between you and your most pure self can be painful and radical. A warrior-ninja is here for epiphanies and progress. With that said, I have come to the realization that in my quest to become a ninja, I must identify all the ties that blind, and then let each of them go.
The warrior's way is to get in touch with the core of you, the you at the center of all that snow. The you that laughs easily and feels light and can't wait to wake up in the morning. The you that looks straight in the eyes of the one you love, speaking nothing but your truth. The you that doesn't need to prove anything or live for anyone, is just enough - exactly as is. So your life rarely feels like a "have to," and nearly always a "want to." A "can't wait to." Think about it.
Until next time...
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