Path made by walking
This path made by walking can be utterly terrifying. She says I’m a pioneer, but my brain jumps to the Oregon Trail game I played at the library. So many lost in the journey.
This path is undefined — how do I describe what I want — what I only recently discovered — when I still have trouble saying these words in a public setting. Standing out brought me here — unable to hide what I could not do. I forged a new path, not sure where I was going, but better than here.
A pioneer without a map — looking for a destination in the land of I don’t know — trying to deconstruct that statement — to feel in all of the thinking.
What if you were that person — the one described in a narrative of resourcefulness and bravery?
I don’t feel brave. But I am here. A character in search of a narrator. Could you just tell me what to do? Impose a setting upon me where I can live in peace.
This in-between is scary. Is there safety in not knowing — trying to define myself with adjectives I’m learning to apply. To see myself in motion. No one is a static character. I want to find my own script — to place words over this blank page of what next.
When I can only feel pressure to be sure of what now — this path made by walking is continuing on. By faith, she… these old words buried in that growing up space.
This path is here — in the uncertain places she walks, trying to hear her own voice in the noise of what she fears is already known. I walk a path undefined — with tiny, uncertain steps, becoming what I don’t know yet.
I don’t recognize this path, but I will. I live in not yet — an unforged will be is coming. I keep walking slowly into this becoming.