Monday, April 12, 2010. 7:30am.
Somewhere near Washington, DC.
A woman dressed in red boots and floral headscarf enters a Government facility. The guards use a baton to probe the items in her purse: a book, her wallet, some Tupperware with last night’s dinner, a breast pump.
She takes the stairs to the second floor, hangs a right, passes the water cooler and coffee that’s brewing, down the hallway that dead ends to a tall, wooden door. She fumbles through her bag for the badge to enter in and swipes it a few times before the door finally opens to a line of gray cubicles and the sound of caffeinated typing.
“Hey Tiffany, good morning! ” the man says at cubicle #1, stopping his scrolling to make eye contact.
“How was the drive in?” he asks.
“Not bad, ready for another hot cup now!” she says.
The sun from his east window suddenly floods the room, turning everything into the color of coral. She has a quick thought about Archangels and how she’s secretly leaving the office early for a massage.
He smiles and turns back to his screen.
The trip to her cubicle is swift and non-eventful, the preferred means for everyone who’s getting coffee and opening emails this Monday morning.
She sits down and thinks about the intended compliment she got the week before from the Director of something-something in the agency.
“We’re really going to miss you around here. I’ve truly enjoyed your quiet professionalism.”
And then, the bumper sticker on the drive in.
“Well-behaved women seldom make history.”
The words gave her stomach a slight burning sensation. How long had she been hiding behind quiet and professional?
She pulls out her journal—a faded Tree of Life on the cover—and opens to the last page. With a hot pink Sharpie, she writes in bold letters: ADVENTURE AWAITS.
Friday, November 3, 2017. 10am.
It’s an uncomfortable experience, waking up.
(And by waking up, I mean the phenomenon that happens when what one usually keeps inside of herself begins to spill out everywhere, onto everybody in a most unorderly way.)
For me, the black and white lines that so firmly held in WIFE, MOTHER, DAUGHTER, CAREER got blown to smithereens and I didn’t even remember taking the red pill.
But it happened—
because it had to happen.
I was thirty years old in 2010. That was the year I stopped being able to go back to sleep. What I used to ignore or flat-out deny about myself spontaneously combusted and I couldn’t turn down the heat of who I was and could no longer hide behind who I used to become so as not to inconvenient everybody else.
There was no catastrophe. My house didn’t burn down, I didn’t get a divorce, my babies (one and three at the time) were happy and healthy.
It was just my time.
Each day I started to believe a little more than the last that my gifts had a place in this world, that they could do more than just keep the peace or get things done (those were simply talents I had picked up along the way and they made a lot of people happy.) But my soul gifts? Those were bigger and higher and lovelier than anything I had admitted to myself in a long, long time.
I think all fiery awakenings start like that, as tiny sparks of belief.
Like these ones that got me up in the morning during my 8-hour days in the cubicle:
I believe that a life of daily ‘meh’ is not for me.
I believe that the planet is evolving to something higher and I get to be a part of that.
I believe that my inner child holds the secrets to the universe and she is ready to talk.
I believe that something wonderful is about to happen.
What about you?
What’s happening in your life right now because it needs to happen?
What beliefs do you have that’re trying to start a fire?
What would something wonderful look like for you if it came true by the end of today?
Send me a note and tell me about it. Or, post below!
To a meh-less planet,
PS. Have you seen this? I’ll be making a big deal about it come Monday. Consider this your sneak peek. 🙂