Person of Peace

Speak the Music event last week – an event dedicated to supporting the art of beatboxing. I absolutely LOVED it – I spent most of the night in awe of the all of the different sounds.

I caught my mind scheming about different ways to change myself to “fit in” here – to be more like them – with the music and passion I so admire.

Oh it all sounds so dumb in a post!!

Moving on… I don’t like to think of myself as one who wants to “fit in” at all. Normally I’d reject the idea altogether with a laugh. But then Speak the Music happened – and now I have undeniable proof – of my longing to be accepted. To belong.

For a lot of my life I’ve felt like I didn’t quite fit. I wasn’t the daughter my mother dreamed of having. I wasn’t skinny enough, fast enough, bold enough. I spent many years in silence being shy. I don’t remember speaking much at all in middle school. I went through so many stages – with every new crowd I’d try a new thing. Like that time I tried to be a “skater” for a month. I borrowed a black pair of Jinkos from a friend and pretended I could ride a skateboard. Then I tried the pot-smoking crowd. They were so friendly and accepting. But I really didn’t care to smoke, though I tried. Then there was the church youth group – but the only reason I fit there for awhile was because my mother convinced the older girls to have pity for me and take me in. (When they accidentally became my real friends, they told me the truth.) Then there was the gangster stage when I learned some slang, braided my hair, and pretended I was “street smart.” The list goes on and on… maybe I should call it “The People I tried to be”.

In the last few years, my disdain for myself has become unavoidable and readily apparent. I was never enough… for me. Of course I could blame it on my parents, but as the time continues to pass and the distance between us grows, it becomes more of a stretch. I can’t keep blaming others for the things I chose to believe.

I spent so many years as a wanderer – lost – searching. I traveled around the world – to China, Europe, Africa, and South America – all in search of myself.

I remember why I hated living in Los Angeles so much. It wasn’t me and I wasn’t enough. The flawless beauty and fashion of the women around me only helped me remember myself as plain and ordinary. I remember a year and a half into it, when I finally found the words to say “I don’t like who I’ve become.”

What then? Where do you go next? I had to endure. I survived. My determination outweighed my faintness of heart. Because although I may be lost – I am not a quitter. (Though I quit like 15 jobs in high school – but that was then.)

Then, finally, we moved here. Here. I determined last night that regardless of whether or not I ever married Kevin, we (God and I) would have eventually came here. I don’t know how long it would have taken – but we would be here. This is my place of peace. This is the time for my heart to heal and accept who I am and who I am not… and live. There is something to be said about a person of peace. I want to be that person.