Wide-eyed Friday...

It's Friday. That glorious day which ushers in all of our weekend dreams. I can see the dreams; they are hovering over every person in this office building like a speech bubble ready to burst wide open.

And being that Friday is the most wonderful kind of day, I feel that maybe it should have its very own special something in this Parlor. It should be a day of discovery and fun findings. 

And so it shall be, for so it is written:

Friday is Wide-eyed and ready for adventure.

This Friday's wide-eyed discovery is one of inner strength--- which means... confession time. (Brace yourselves. It's gonna be a long one.) You see I have been going through what you might call an identity crisis. Since I was probably 5. The thing is, in my little span of life, I have moved about a bajillion times. Each time I moved somewhere new, I had an opportunity to become someone else. To be more or less or the person I was before. And so I did. And along the way I borrowed little bits and pieces from each place of residence to add to the character I was forming. 

School shopping became my favorite time of year, because that was when I got to pick out my costumes to complete the new me. (Plus, I'm a girl who loves me some clothes. Uh-huh! So I guess that's pretty natural.)

Anyways, I think this little crisis (if we can really call it that... maybe internal struggle is less dramatic and more fitting) really came to light when my awesome sister-in-law Jennifer said to me as we were rummaging through Target shoes "I saw these sandals the other day and thought of you. They are very Becky style." And I thought, I have a style? Soon thereafter my wonderful friend/coworker Mary came into the office with a new sweater she'd just purchased and said that when she bought it she thought that is so Becky. And I thought it is? (I did like the sweater very much, Mary!) And as I have been developing this little blog, those of you who actually read my ramblings may have noticed that the design has changed at least a trillion and one times. And when I was putting my profile together for the Blogger, I couldn't even think of what to put in the categories, ya know?! Pitiful!

At any rate, these little instances got me asking: Who is da Becky and what does she do? I mean I know I'm a child of God. I know I am a sister, a daughter, a wife, and a messy eater. I know about my preexistence and my post-existence. But what about now? What about me this very very second...?

(Is this making sense? I don't know. It doesn't really make sense in my head so much either. Ugh.)

So I have done some deep deep remembering and dredging up and examining of the soul and what-not, and it has been a tiresome journey through my history of foolishness and folly (with a  few moments of inspiration and ingenious thrown in there along the way). I recalled a lot of defining moments. I remembered my days of dress up. I remembered how much I loved putting on makeup. I remembered dreaming up how popular I would be at the next school I went to. I remembered trying so hard to figure out what it was that I needed to do to be like this person or that person. But one memory was the most poignant: I remembered how I tried for years to impress a single guy with the way I dressed and the way I wrote and the way I talked. I remember a particular time when we went out and about, and I had bought some new shoes for the occasion that did not fit right with the tights I was wearing. They kept sliding off the back of my feet. I felt awkward and embarrassed. But the very next time we went out, I probably wore a shirt that was a teensy bit too low. And a gaudy designer sweatshirt with designer jeans and a new leather handbag that I was so proud to have purchased all on my own. But I still felt awkward. And the thing was, he never seemed that impressed with me. And I wondered why.


Then it dawned on me, how could anyone be impressed with me when I wasn't being myself? And then it dawned on me that I just said "being myself." I MUST know what that means. In my innerest of cores I must know what being myself feels like. But it feels so jumbled up in the past and the future and all the gray area that is the present.

So I looked really deep down in that innerest of cores and stared it down and said, "Innerest core down there, what does it feel like to be myself?"

And here's what she said:

It feels like the first time I realized I was in love with Clint. It feels like every time I say something even slightly witty, and he looks at me like I am the champion of the world. It feels like being in the temple with family and good friends and being so full of joy that it all wells over and down my cheeks. It feels like Clint's pajama pants and his gray cotton t-shirt. It feels like late night runs for sweet treats and living room blanket forts and long walks and holding hands. It feels like Santa is real, and I want to be a secretary when I grow up. It feels like shower-songs and a 90s dance party. It feels like a shoulder to cry on and needing a shoulder to cry on. It feels like continually changing and growing but with a good foundation to rely on. It feels like creativity and happiness and lots of love.

So maybe it just doesn't matter if I have completely pegged what my style is. Maybe it's not all that bad if I change my mind and try to make things better and better and better. Maybe it's okay if we move a hundred thousand more times. Because knowing where I come from and where I'm going and who it's with is enough for me right now. I may be indecisive, and I may be young. But I have it all in the palm of my hand. The answers and the love and the magic. Every person I have ever been has brought me to this moment, and I have looked over the little self that is left and have entrusted its heart to someone who loves that self.

And I've looked myself over, and I say it is good.

And I say for now, it is enough.

Happy weekend.