Whispers on the Way to Work

This morning I blew a thought bubble from my head.

It grew and grew until it popped.

And, a tiny seed floated on the recirculating air of my car's air conditioning.

The seed of wonder bounced round, up and down, cycling back and forth until I heard what it was trying to say. 

Whispers so quiet, I could barely hear over the radio, over the hum of the tires speeding along the freeway, over the road noise, over my anxiety and stress at the forefront of my mind. 

What if I became more beautiful as I got older?

The line and wrinkles representing the roads and avenues I've traveled in life so far. 

They represent where I've been, what I've done, the sadness and happiness, good and bad, that brings me to this moment in the car, driving to work, hoping to be on time.  

I should celebrate each bend and curve in the road, each twist and turn upon my face.  

I should revere them.  

Dare I feel it?  

Dare I believe it?

I can welcome them in my embrace and look forward to where I go next. 

Which path will I choose to move forward on?  

This path is not straight.  

It could get windier.  

It could get turbulent with crests and valleys, roundabouts and clovers, 

but always forward-moving.  

And I should hold my head steady and eyes looking to the horizon.

Hair in the wind, wild and unpredictable.

I should tell my daughter I embrace myself, for all my faults and dreams, realized and incubating.  I should love myself, all the bits and pieces, odds and ends, imperfect as I am perfect.  

I should tell my son I embrace myself.  My emotions big and small, all my over and under reactions.  I should love myself because I am a being full of empathy and selfishness all at the same time and that is normal.  And that is human.  

I should hug myself and tell her tomorrow is always new and yesterday is gone.  

I will heed the words I say and feelings singing from my heart.  

Words and emotions full of melancholic loneliness but hope in the form of love.  

But why is there a part of me deep down dark that also whispers,

in the other ear,

What if this is all lies? 

Lies I tell myself so I can put one foot in front of the other each day?  

I won't know for sure; I can't know.  

But my courage says shut up to the intruder.

It's a privilege to love.

It's a privilege to live.

And that's what I'll do in spite of what the small-hearted voice whispers in my other ear.  

And that's what I'll do.