Gotta Be Me

I realized I’ve been going about all of this the wrong way. I’ve been trying to turn into someone else, ever running away from the self I sometimes wish I could leave behind me, locked in a dark closet never to be heard from again. In denying my own nature, I was walking the wrong path. There is value in trying to search and change, I think, because it’s led me back here, but wiser. Seeing myself as a whole being, not some puzzle where some pieces get kicked under the carpet. And for the whole to be whole, every piece must be securely in place. Some things about me: I’m sentimental, angry, bitter but soft. I love to laugh, I like crass humor and being completely inappropriate, but I know when to behave. I like people who push the boundaries of comfortable living through expression, music, art and the like, but despise those who think that means encroaching on the rights and happiness of others. I like orderly disorder. I’m sanitary, but dirty in my ways. I play the drums, I’m a pants-wearing, swearing, belching, stout beer drinking, tater-tot loving, fatty meat eating, cackling Chick with a capital ‘C’. I am a punk, I love to listen to primal screams and loud, controlled chaos of the soul. To me there’s no better expression of angst than slam-dancing and harmony punk, and pogo’ing is the epitome of the Happy Dance to bubble gum Ramones lyrics. I love folk music, I grew up listening to folk music of Minneapolis but also of Eastern Europe, most especially Balkan folk. I grew up among theatre people, learning dirty jokes and staying up all night, being babysat by the bartender who served us Ginger Ale’s all night. I don’t understand women whatsoever and have always felt more affinity with men, and yet I can be as wimpy and weak with them as any girlie girl. Nothing infuriates me more than the injustice in the world. I’ve been around the block enough to know the hard things in life, and yet I never, ever get used to it or accept it.

That’s just who I am. I gotta be me on this journey. I have my portable altar materials kept inside my Ramones lunchbox and a little pencil box with witches and black cats and spiders on it. The things I make are clumsy and imperfect, and they are exclusively mine. I need to see the value and pride in it, accept it, own it, and not apologize for it. I will continue reading and learning, but I need to above all remember that this journey is mine. I’m not here to please or impress anyone. I’m not going to sit down and compare notes on my smarty-pants-ness or blather on about traditional shit when tradition has never, ever in my life meant anything to me because I have never, ever known it. That is not me. I’m making this path as I go, blindly kicking leaves out of the way. I don’t buy into the idea that there is one single way to learn, I’ve never thought that. I’ve never learned things in a traditional way. I learned by living, and that is the way I will need to continue to learn. That is my way.

I can’t think of a more appropriate musical feature for this post than that of Hole. Enjoy, and remember, be yourself!

Hole: Awful

 

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