Light

There's a very bright, very white light shining on the Charles River from the middle of the BU bridge. It's incredibly noticeable against the inky blackness of the dancing water and the muddled skyline. In a perfect way, it is illuminating the darkness in an impossible fashion. The reflection on the water is almost as bright as the light itself, taunting it, speaking to it's impenetrability.

That water is me.

Sometimes, I worry that I keep nothing a secret. So many know so much, and that idea barely appeals to me. Even as blog topics continually floated into my head this week (and I have many ideas, so stay tuned), I thought, am I too available? Do I give every part of me away in some public free forum?

The answer, simply, is no. I give almost nothing away. Many people could probably recite my activites, my day's actions, my interests, because I share those things with fervor, stories are recited with gusto, etcetera. I love sharing of my surface bits like it is my job. My inner parts, my secrets...those come out rarely. I only am friends with those I feel I can trust, yet even then, I am hesitant to open up in a deeper way. Through my life experiences, I have unconsciously been taught to fear and avoid hurt at any cost, and trying to not be a completely closed off person is a constant struggle. I have to actively remind myself to trust, to love, to give. Even still, I often resist. No one person knows everything about me. Like every human, I am multi faceted.

Sometimes, I fear unpredictability, the unknown, yet I am the epitome of the unpredictable. I have no idea what I'm doing or how to do it, how to live "correctly". I'm just trying to follow my heart and mix in a bit of my logic, and I feel that I can't be led completely astray that way. There are things that are missing from my life, yet I feel a complete picture, with room for addition. Though I don't have it all, I don't feel that anything is imperfect. I feel as whole as I can.

And part of that, of living? Is letting people in. It is one thing to ignore your fear, and quite something else to absorb it all and act anyways, to love without holding back and to dream with everything you have, as Martina McBride says. I can do that. Slowly, I'm learning.

Looking at the light out of my window a little longer, the waves that lap up in the river allow for a bit of the light to shine slightly into the water, below the glassy surface. It's a perfectly rare occurrence, though. I think it's best that way.