To Begin Again

By Jessica Pike

I sit here at my desk, trying to figure out my life...as one does. Behind my laptop is a picture of my 5-year-old self on the first day of Kindergarten and next to that is a poem from the Typewriter Series by Tyler Knott Gregson. I'm wearing a red turtleneck, red tights, a jean dress with horrid plaid bows, and white cowboy boots that I apparently HAD to have. The look on my face screams, "This is awkward and I don't know what to expect."

The poem, pinned by a glittering thumbtack, reads:

"There is time

to make things right,

to put things

where the should have

been put

from the beginning.

We convince ourselves

that we're stuck

where we've

chosen to stick,

and nothing can

change it. Every

moment, we can

begin again. Every

moment you can become

whomever you have waited

to become."

---

I look at this picture of my 5-year-old self and see a little girl that hasn't yet had the experiences that my 36-year-old self has had. All the loss, depression, and anxiety. All the adult responsibility and bills. Lack of confidence in who I am. Anger at a world that doesn't make sense. Always trying to fit in and always trying to be successful, whatever that means.

At the time of 5 years old, I was shaped by tea parties with Mickey Mouse, coloring outside the lines, and apparently a strange taste in fashion. Point is, life hadn't dug its claws into me yet. I see the progression, though, thinking of myself now. What trauma and all the unspoken hurts have done. All the time I've felt "stuck" in my life and maybe not even necessarily stuck but unsure of how to move forward. Good times, too. Its a battle we all face; those moments where uncertainty infiltrates our bones and its more terrifying than the dark itself.

However, I look at this picture as a reminder. That her, my 5-year-old-self, is still me. Because I took my white cowgirl boots and dared to go into the unknown. I mean, I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. That unknown ended up being fingerpainting and playing show and tell with my peers, who were also facing the uncertainty. We had a teacher named Mr. Jones who had us play musical chairs to the Beach Boys and whom I told that my eyes were Weasel colored instead of Hazel.

One of the hardest parts of being human, is facing the unknown. We don't really have any control. We have influence, but not control of the outcome of the future. I read that poem, though, and I am reminded that at any time, including this moment, I can put on my white cowgirl boots and face whatever comes my way. Knowing I am not stuck and knowing things can change. The only constant is change. I can separate myself from the chaos and the sadness that tries to grab ahold of me. Of us.

Everyday, we can choose to put our cowgirl (or cowboy...or Cons...or heels...or Vans...) boots on and face the unknown with courage. Because we're not stuck. Because we are unabashedly ourselves---trauma and all. This is my first blog post and going forward into unknown territory. I've got my metaphorical (and maybe not metaphorical...you'll never know) boots on. It seems a good time, as any, to begin again.