Phoenix.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about growth lately - the necessity of the beast, mainly, and how precisely one acknowledges and nurtures the growth within themselves.

Growth, you see, is difficult. It's not meant to be easy or for those faint of heart and conviction. It's meant to be faced down, met eye to eye in a back alley. It's supposed to be terrifying. A good friend once said to me, "If you're not scared, you're not learning anything." I laughed him off at the time, gave him one of my signature eye rolls and changed the subject, afraid that he really did know what he was talking about.

Turns out, he did.

I have had a lot of hurt in the past few years. I've gone through break ups, heart ache, made myself vulnerable and had things (romantic, professional and otherwise) end poorly. I've cried, I've beat myself up thinking about what I could have done differently and I've stayed in bed all day.

Then I got up. I moved forward.

Some people would have me believe that simply moving on, moving forward, is a slap in the face and means I've locked all those emotions in some deep, dark trunk in my brain. That just because I'm not thinking about all my decisions on a regular basis means I'm pretending it didn't happen, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

I've chosen to take those mistakes, those choices (for better and for worse), and use them as the soil that I've rebuilt my life on. No one comes into this world with an easy path, and some of us have it harder than others, but we all share one thing in common... we choose who we are and what we become. We can wallow in misery and focus on the negative or we can be the phoenix and raise ourselves up from the ashes.

I'm not sure I'll ever be 100% comfortable with who I am and where I am in my life. I'm a writer, a creator, and my natural mindset is to strive towards the unattainable. But what I can tell you is that I have never been more content with that struggle towards knowledge, never been more sure of who I have in my corner and who would try to trip me and hold me down. I've never felt more safe to be me in my life and I've never felt less afraid to give the middle finger to those people who can't be there for me the same way I have always been there for them.

In the end, really, it's their loss.

And I'm a goddamn phoenix rising.

Grey.

This morning, I put priority on my writing.

I woke up early this morning to shower, too tired out by a fast scrimmage practice and a late night birthday party for Caits with my dad to shower last night. When I found myself dressed and ready, the dog walked, by 6:50a, I was excited by the thought of being able to head to Starbucks and grab a salted caramel mocha before work.

I wandered into the bathroom for one last go-through with my straightener and noticed a few grey hairs that have slipped past my hair dye for the past few months.

And then I noticed how little I cared about them. I looked at them, streaking through my bangs, and smiled. I've earned those grey hairs. While they used to scream at me about how old I'm getting, they now grin at me and remind me how far I've come, how grown up and mature I am now.

So, instead of Starbucks, I write. I breathe in the cool, fall air and smile about this upcoming season of change and the amazing place I'm in now, due to all of the events that caused those little grey hairs.

And I feel grateful.

Forgiveness.

I believe very strongly in the power of being able to adjust and control your own attitude.

I, however, have not quite learned the finer art of being able to do that. There are times when my mind plays tricks on me, runs away with tiny, negative thoughts, and my rational brain is unable to rein it back in.

I have always been creative. The downside of that creativity is that I often can create scenarios that are unlikely, if not impossible, to happen. When I was dating my ex-girlfriend Jenny, I was struggling with the feeling that I was still in love with my ex before her, Bridgette. In the shower yesterday (I do some of my best thinking - and singing - in there!), it occurred to me that it was Bridgette's constant reminding me how much she loved me and how much we belonged together that convinced me that it was inevitable.

Now, with the benefit of time and space, I can see how little I was making and influencing my own decisions. Besides being a kind of gross realization, I also feel awful because I ended up hurting a lot of people in my quest to get to my real feelings on the situation.

I've started, recently, trying to forgive myself for my past. I hold myself to a pretty high standard and any deviation from what I view as perfect behavior just totally fucks with my brain. I've hurt people, I've made unpopular decisions and I am a human being. We aren't perfect, we CAN'T be. We can only move forward having learned who we are and what we want out of life... and that's what I'm doing.

I have a wonderful girlfriend who, knowing my past, chooses to love me despite it. If she can, I should be able to.

Writing.

Do you remember that scene where Indiana Jones fell into the pit of snakes? There are big snakes and little snakes and hissing snakes trying to bite and snakes that could care less... and there he is, in the center of all that, trying to figure out how to get out of there.

That's my head these days.

My brain is full of squirmy thoughts that don't necessarily have any negative desires, but become something that I am completely unable to not focus on.

It's tough to live like that.

I've recently had to make the choice to set aside one of the longest relationships in my life, the one with my little sister, while she is figuring her life out. I'm not interested in putting any of this into the public forum, but I am unable and unwilling to have a relationship with someone who is capable of saying such hurtful things to me (especially about something I pride myself on being good at). I know that's vague, and I intend for it to stay that way, but I need to put it out there because it has greatly affected my life recently.

It's also inspired me to write again. I remember being that age, thinking I knew everything and everyone else was wrong, wanting to take on the world... I miss the inspiration that drove out of me. Sitting at Starbucks the other day reminded me that, while I might not always take the time to write, that writer is still inside me dying to get out.