bus-ride howls

The past couple of months, I have been living in somewhat of a hermit mode. My tendency is toward introversion, although I do love being around people, when the energy suits my own. However, I need a lot of downtime spent alone, for self-care and processing. I’m super sensitive and so I’ve learned over the years how essential this is for my well-being. It’s just how my cells are structured.

So over the past months, I have been writing, a lot. Maybe I needed all that time for processing and cathartic release, or maybe some of the pressure has been building up, and the old belly-beast, perfectionism, has been rearing her ugly head deep within my gut, thriving on the not-nows and maybe-laters I have (albeit unintentionally) fed her. Maybe I just need to get out of my head and stop thinking about it all so freakin’ much.

Anyway, I have been writing a ton, but for some reason, I just now realized that I have been hiding my voice. I hide behind my journal, and pages & pages that get lost in the blackhole that is the “writing” file on my mac, as well as behind friendly groups of fellow soul-searchers. Nothing wrong with that. I have discovered so much light, creativity, and inspiration, among these beautiful people. I have finally found my tribe of humans who speak the same language I do (or at least, a similar one, because my own language is a strangely unique combination of purring and buzzing and quite a bit of moving-to-a-beat-nobody-else-seems-to-hear). I’ve heard it called “tone-deaf” in certain circles. I chalk it up to just a different kind of tone.

So in the interest of thinking-less and sharing-more-heart, here is something I wrote tonight, for a Facebook book club I am part of (I’m lucky enough to have somehow found myself connected with a beautiful tribe of soul sisters, reading the book Women Who Run With the Wolves together). And in the spirit of starving my old frenemy Perfectionism, I wrote this, partially on my phone and partially in my head, on a bus packed to the sardines-brim, as we (we being my fellow bus-riding fish-friends and I) made our slow & steady incline up one of the steepest hills in this city:

I think of myself not so much a writer, but rather, a connector. I’ve always been fascinated by the details, the hidden pieces that make a person tick and tock. What makes someone’s heart quicken or grow slow or even skip a beat, to me, is far more interesting than anything else. The stories that thread us all together.

Tonight, on my bus ride home, I was reminded of the beauty of the invisible strings of the universe. I pulled out my copy of this beloved book, already battered and worn in the way that only the most beautiful kind of let-me-bring-you-everywhere-with-me reading creates, albeit a mere three-and-a-half chapters in, together with my pen for underlining more words than left untouched. Across the aisle from me, someone said “hey” and held up her own copy, much cleaner than mine, but, from the looks of it, loved just as, if not more, deeply. And among the colored tabs so carefully lined along her pages, I saw a kindred spirit. One who, too, was born to howl. But then again so are we all.

And in the simplicity of that moment, I was given the sign I so desperately needed, today especially. In that fleeting, magical connection over the bone-deep lessons the two of us have as-yet swept into our souls, and the plenitude of more still awaiting absorption, I was reminded that I am exactly where I need to be. Right now, I walk in exactly the right place, at the right time. And life’s synchronicity is far more powerful than any of my ideas, thoughts, or plans for how things should turn out.

Over a brief bus-ride chat, I managed to get her name and told her I would find her on Facebook and invite her to join our group! Hopefully she accepts my friend-request. But even if she doesn’t, I carry deep gratitude for her, a fellow soul sister, who, with a simple “hi,” helped me to shine light into the tunnels of my faith, the substance of my bones, and served as a most beautiful outward sign of the inner & outer (& in between) connections that bind us all. The sign reminding me that I am far less lost than I think I am. I am, in fact, moving according to plan.


2 thoughts on “bus-ride howls

  1. Not only did you write this from inside of me – you underline pages (with stars!!!) exactly as I do!
    I know you, you are me – thank you from the inside of me to the inside of you –
    And now I’m going to have to read that book!

    1. Nancy (& Inside Nancy) – thank you (from the inside of me too) so much for your comment & recognition of the me-in-you! Yes I do the stars & underlining; I absolutely cannot read without a pen in hand. It is a wonderful book. ❤ ❤

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