fulfillment.

I had a plan. It certainly didn’t include being single in my late forties. If I knew this future 10 years ago, I would have thrown a temper tantrum at the angels. 

I am single. I’m 49. And I am happier today, yesterday, and the day before. I cannot remember feeling this free as a girl, as a woman, in every part of my life. 

These days, being single does not feel like being alone. It used to, though. And I’d hunt down a soul just to patch the hole.

I feel finally complete as I continue to untame myself, to drop my guard, my masks, my potions.

I am giddy and wild again like a curious child playing with the toys in her chest.

I whisper sweet thanks to experience. And Spirit responds to this exchange.

The boys who once broke my heart, came to apologize when they became men. The threads that tied me to many hearts over many cities and hopes are slipping out of my hands. I bless each one as they float like balloons on a slow breeze.

This story of my completeness I wish to share with my sisters who cry out to be loved by another as a sign of life, and worth.

I wish to tell them:

First set your Self free. Let her thrive in realness.

I would tell her to listen to the opening note of the song you always wanted to sing. This tune will enliven you. Sing it.

 

I would tell her Wave Your Magic over miles of dreams and fears, and follow every hunch that brushes your cheek.

I would tell her love is an unwrapped present you carry with you all the time. It’s been with you during all those misshapen relationships and solo Friday night dinners. 

Once you realize this, open it. Open your gift. It’s wild and untamed inside, made pure and rare, so don’t change it.

When you do–open it–you will have opened the love of your life.

You will have opened your full Self, and she’s exactly who you’ve been looking for all this time.

Version 6

her.

I hear them say to me ” hey gorgeous” or “you’re so beautiful” and I stop to question, well, they must have missed these gray hairs?

Do they see what life has done to my crown? It has exposed me. Made me odd and old and riddled me with this self-judgment.

How could they have missed them? There’re so many. Surely when they see them, they’ll reassess my status of beauty, status of presence. I will become invisible once they see that I am not what they thought I was.

Why do I do that? 

Even when I was 32 and only one day after I won a body building contest– ripped and leaner than I’d been in my entire life– I pondered whether to wear my cut-off shorts and tomato red heels to the Village for lunch.  

You know, because I thought maybe my legs showed cellulite, too much water-weight on the back.  

I had just won a bodybuilding show and still thought “they’re gonna find out I WAS fat just 3 months ago.”

Geezo, even with less than 10% bodyfat I felt like an imposter.

And I look at women all around the city; so many gorgeous, luscious women, and I can’t help but hope they realize their pretty is profound. So profound. So unique. Stunning.

Like art.

The Woman with dark brown skin, pure and unblemished.  Glowing gorgeousness.  A chocolate face that shines. Does she see how My breath slows when I look at her face? Maybe, she doesn’t know how exquisite she is, just as she is.

 

The round Woman with hips like ruby rose petals bursting in May . I think they are paintable and sculptable and climbable.

She may not know that she radiates like a maternal goddess, that she reminds me that we’re all mothering someone, even us women without our own child. She is my mirror, and I thank her for letting me see myself that way.

 

The Lady behind glasses masking the mystery in her knowing eyes;  on a face with warrior markings, touched with reds and pinks and greens and black lines of clarity.  Reading her library labeled book.  A thinker, a lover of words and sounds and silence magnified.

When these women turn and catch my gaze, I let a smile stream between us.  

 

Does she know of her lovely? 

 

I, too, wanna feel beautiful beyond my failed control over the gray that commands my head. I wanna feel beautiful even with the patch of cellulite on the side of my rump, when I am without pink and red powders, while wearing my writing glasses and tapping letters on my iPad, while feeling the flow of tears when I write stuff that really matters to me.  

And I wanna let HER know she is– the one I’m smiling at–the lady sitting across from me on the train– the one who keeps staring at me–I want her to know she’s stunning.

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for real.

Clawing for your dream to become real can be a bit exhausting, if it goes on long enough.

But God knows, you definitely have to go after what you want in full force if you’re seriously determined to make it real.

 

In order for most of us to claim our deepest desires:

to lose fat once and for all,

to cruise to a six-figure income,

to hold the keys to your beach house, 

to finally caress the hand of your everlasting mate,

we need to start acting more like a kid instead of a pissed-off, overwhelmed, confused,

and irritated grown-up.

 

Once you decide you are READY to acquire that dream,

the activity that must consume your “efforts” is playing

MAKE BELIEVE.

 

Use every pocket of me-time: when you’re in the shower, on the toilet,

driving,

or right before bed

to daydream VIVIDLY!

 

What’s new in your wardrobe when you’re 10 pounds lighter?

How does it feel to look at your bank statements after you’ve easily paid your credit card bill and sent extra money to your investment accounts?

Describe the kitchen and bathroom in your beach house.

What does your everlasting love say to you on Sunday morning?

 

Daydream the questions.

The answers become your vision.

 

Then PRETEND.

Feel that darn dream as if it’s real right now. And feel it again tonight. And feel it again in the car. And again when you take the dog for a walk. And again tomorrow.

Act like it’s real.

 

Eat the foods someone 10 pounds lighter would eat.

Send money to your nieces every month.    

Go to HomeDepot and select the cabinets and tiles you’re gonna use for the kitchen remodel in your beach house.

Wake up feeling that you’re seen and loved.

 

Actively MAKE BELIEVE your dream is real RIGHT NOW.

And like a crazy adult or a creative child, boldly PRETEND you are living your dream every single day without cease.

Pretty soon, really,

pretty soon,

you will live it

for real.

for real

www.michellebernardspeaks.com

 

stuff

I remember when that lopsided tree in the backyard was one wind gust from falling down on our new house.

We closed on the house in late August. My first house. By November Hurricane Sandy almost caused our upstairs bedroom to crash into our kitchen. Sandy had pulled at least 14 trees out of the ground on surrounding streets. Welcome to the neighborhood.

I ended up leaving that little Cape Cod home anyway. My husband will continue to live in our house while we uncouple. I’ve mourned then found the calm to settle all that loss. I’m grateful for what those things were to me and what they made helped me become.

Things aren’t permanent. Stuff might last, it might not. And I’ve tried not to hold on to stuff as tightly as I used to. It’s a daily effort.

As I watch the sky go from gray to white to regular to gray, I feel Jose’s breath coming behind Irma’s.

I’m giving to the people who’ve survived Irma in the ways that I can.

I’m also giving thanks in general. Grateful.

I’m grateful for my freedom. My freedom to change. Freedom to let go when I need to or have to.

I’m grateful for the freedom (and courage) to move onward to what calls me forward.

reach.

reach.

beating under skin

that knows

certain uncertain 

life. 

pushing breath into sound.

she writes herself

with her body.

her stories dance.

I am a WILD journaler. I journal every morning of every day of every week with a pen.

I journal my feelings with dance whenever I get the chance. Won’t you join me?

See my JOURNALS HERE.

More about DANCE WITH THE WILD coming soon!

http://www.michellebernardspeaks.com