But life is a reckless teenager we can't control.
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âWhat are your birthday intentions?â I asked my darling friend on the eve of her birthday, last winter. We were sitting in the backyard of my parents' temporary rental in Venice Beach, California.Â
My darling friendâa Fulbright scholar from Eastern Europeâlooked at me with eyes stretched open so wide they took up half of her face. âBIRTHDAY INTENTIONS?â She asked bewildered. It was as if Iâd informed her I was sexting with the ghost of Stalin. She stared sadly into the dirt, âI didnât know I was supposed to have birthday intentions.â
Suddenly, I understood why she was so shaken by my mere mention of âbirthday intentions.â I not only understood her fearâI caught it. Fear is wildly contagious and no amount of rhetorical condoms can protect you from infection.
âNo, donât worry about it. I was just asking. Itâs nothing!â I laughed a little too loudly for a little too long. It was one of those laughs that makes everyone in the room uncomfortable, especially yourself. The kind of high-pitched cackle that harbors the unpredictable energy of a drunk. At any moment that laugh could turn into a sob or a scream or a scam.Â
My darling friend and I looked at each other morbidly for several seconds. The truth was we were triggered, my darlings. Weâre both entering our late thirtiesâwhich is a very specific juncture of lifeâa lovely little time when shit starts to get a little too real.
By which I mean, your late 30s are a mile-marker of sorts. Youâre supposed to have procured certain things by now. Babies, mortgages, life partners, money in the bank, âsecurityâ and the rest of that bleak bullshit thatâs supposed to make us âhappyâ and âfullâ (but more often than not render us caged and teeming with holes).
But hereâs the thingâno matter how evolved you are and how deeply you know and understand on an intellectual level that cultural expectations are a load of patriarchal, dated bullshit meant to keep us smallâitâs hard to not let the pressure get to you.
After all, weâve only been told that if we donât have it all figured out by now weâre aimless losersâfor I donât know how long?âour entire fucking lives?
And when thereâs a collective demand to be in a concrete place in your life at a concrete ageâgoal setting can make you feel like a scared fawn being hunted by a pack of deranged Florida good âole boys. Because it forces you to do an inventory of your entire life. Youâve got to stare down the barrel of the gun of the truth.
This is why sometimes it just feels safer to avoid the whole âintrospective thingâ and to just keep plodding along pretending everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.
I mean if you stop plodding for even a millisecondâwonât all of your failures and wasted potential snatch you away and airlift you to a dark and scary place?
Thirteen days ago it was my own birthday. And oddly enough I wasnât afraid of pausing and taking a real look at everything. I wasnât going to allow the bullshit to snatch me away to the dark and scary place. After all: Iâd done so much work on myself. And honestly? I was actually in a Really Great Frame Of Mind.â˘Â
Iâd just received my life coach certification and my practice was already starting to take off. And nothingâtruly nothing is more healing and grounding than coaching clients! Writing makes me very mentally ill. She makes me insecure, starved for validation, and painfully trapped in my head. Sheâs the toxic relationship I canât and donât want to quit.
Coaching on the other hand makes me feel dare I sayâthe best version of myself? Helping people dissolve their limiting beliefs so they can live in alignment with their core nature does wonders for my well-being. (But donât worry. Iâm not going to become one of those annoyingly sunny people. The darkness of writing lives no matter how many times Iâve tried to kill her. Coaching has just given us a very necessary sliver of light).Â
One week before my birthday I decided to revisit this whole âbirthday intentionsâ shin-dig. Not in a high-pressure judgmental wayâin a stable, exciting way! What positive things would I draw in this year? Between you, me, and the family: I was starting to feel pretty damn smug. For the first time ever I wasnât panicked about my age, I wasnât comparing my insides to other peopleâs outsides and I felt more present than ever.
Right as I was gloating over my own fabulous self-improvement, Life suddenly stomped into my apartment unannounced. I could tell by the fire in her eyesâthat bitch was looking for a fight.Â
She looked around at my âpretty pink apartmentâ and lit up a cigarette.Â
âLife!â I shouted, âYou canât smoke in here!âÂ
Life snickered. âIâm Life! You canât control me.âÂ
Oh. Yeah. Thatâs right.
Life is like an out-of-control teenager who has burned every bridge with every authority figure imaginable, so sheâs got nothing left to lose. And weâre the helpless parents throwing our hands up into the dark sky at midnight, screaming to the stars, âI DID ALL THE RIGHT THINGS. I SENT MY KID TO ALL THE BEST SCHOOLS. MADE THEM EAT THEIR VEGETABLES. RUINED MY VAGINA FOR THEM. WHAT MORE CAN I DO?âÂ
And yes doing all the âright thingsâ can definitely pay offâbut still, none of us are immune to Lifeâs whims. By which I meanâno amount of coaching or workouts or meditation workshops will tame the reckless teen that is Life.
âPlease be gentle with me,â I pleaded to Life.
âI thought your mental health was strong for real this time? If your constitution is so sturdy, you should be able to withstand the shit-storm Iâm about to throw at you.âÂ
My heart began to thud like the boots of a prison guard stomping down the halls of a state penitentiary. âIâve had ENOUGH shit-storms, you hear?â Rage rose like bile in my throat.Â
Life ignored me. She stamped out her cigarette and dug into her oversized crocodile bag. She pulled out a large bubblegum-colored nail file.Â
âYou know itâs cruel to wear anything made from murdered crocodiles,â I sneered, trying to shame Life into submission.Â
Life didnât respond. She just began filing her long nails into deadly red points. Who was I to think sheâd care about the fucking crocodiles? This was LIFE.Â
âJust try and go easy on me,â I murmured lamely.Â
âIâm bored,â Life vocal-fried, her eyes glued to her nails, âso donât worry. Iâll at least make it interesting. Plusâletâs test it out! See if all âthe workâ youâve allegedly done has moved the needle. Letâs make sure youâre actually in a good placeâ She flashed her teeth at me. They blinded me with their artificial whiteness. âItâs for your own good.â She turned on her heels. CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.
Lifeâs stilettos made quite the racquet for such delicate-looking shoes. (It seems like there is a metaphor there but Iâm not sure what it is?). Before waltzing out my front door she stopped dead in her tracks. She was wearing one of those Juicy Couture terry cloth tube top mini dresses that were all the rage in 2004 and her exposed shoulder blades jutted out of her back, jarringly, like wings.
She slowly turned her head toward me, her ice-blue eyes as cold as a dead body. She looked at me lifelessly from behind the curtains of her acid-blonde hair. She was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way. She looked like a razor blade. Her suspiciously full lips half-mooned into a waning little smile. âIf you come out the other side of thisâall kinds of fabulous shit is going to happen to you. Just saying!â She breezed out the door, CLACK, CLACK, CLACKING down the hall.Â
I was fucked. I just knew that lifeâs threats were not empty. Do you know that feeling that manifests in your bodyâthe one that warns you that danger is ~lurking~ ahead? Some call it intuition. I call it âgirl alarmsâ because I felt this loud blaring vibration in my chest for the first time when I was twelve, debating whether or not to get in the car with the creepy older guy.
But regardless of genderâI believe every good person is armed with an internal alarm system. Whether or not we choose to listen to the blare of its dutiful sirensâwell thatâs a whole other story.Â
A week or so after Life paid me a warning visitâI swear to Lana Del Rey, kittensâSO MANY bad things began to unfold all at once. I canât and wonât get into the details for my own safety and sanityâbut letâs just say I was tested in ways Iâve never been tested, ever. Letâs just say that what has gone down (and continues to go down) was so confusing and terrifying and utterly disruptive to my life and family and nervous system at largeâI was afraid to walk down my block, sleep in my bed, be in my own company. And that my ~darlings~ is all Iâm going to say about it. Ever.Â
The night before my birthdayâafter things took a drastic turn for the much, much worseâI put my head in my hands and sobbed on my pretty pink couch. I didnât want to go into my birthday like this. This was supposed to be my year. Why is this happening?Â
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. Someone was pounding on my door. Having been in a perpetual state of fight or flight for several daysâa knock at the door was enough to make me speed down the emotional autobahn. I braced myself for a new monster to come and taunt me. I tip-toed toward the door. I peered through the peephole. I was shocked at ~who~ I saw waiting patiently at my door.Â
It was me.Â
I was standing in the hallway, twirling my hair, rocking a very chic (rather expensive-looking) monochromatic suit.
I opened the door, my mouth agape. âWhat are you doing here?â I asked myself, convinced that it had finally happened, I was in the throes of an irrevocable psychotic break and would spend the rest of my life in a mental ward the only thing to look forward to my nightly sedatives administered at sundown by a furrow-browed medical professional named Pamela.Â
My thought reel was suddenly interruptedâby me. Or at least a version of me. âIâm YOU. Which means Iâm always here. You canât escape yourself, babe.âÂ
âBut Iâm here, looking at youâmeâwhat the hell is going on? What are you? Am I losing my shit?â I pinched my flesh to see if I was dreaming.Â
âIâm your higher self,â she/I purred. âIâm here to help you protect your fucking sparkle.âÂ
âUsually my guardian angel, Sharon, flies down to earth and fixes everything when things get this bad. Where is she?â Betrayal curled up inside of me. My guardian angel had gotten me through so muchâwhy was she neglecting me NOW?Â
âI told her to sit this one out. We got this, Z,â she pointed at me, âand she agrees, we donât need her to rescue us this time. We can rescue us.â She leaned in close to me. Her breath smelled of vanilla bean. âYou and Iâwe got this.â She batted her lashes. They were slightly longer than mine but thatâs to be expected. The higher self has to be at least a little prettier than your lower self. It only makes sense.
I stared into the face of my higher self. She looked like me on my best day. As if Iâd gone to the salon and had a professional wash and blow dry. Of the hair and the soul. My higher self had the clear-eyed glow of a person who is healthy within. (Her bouncy blowout looked great too).Â
âOkay,â I declared, my confidence suddenly springing up on all fours, like a meerkat. âOkay!âÂ
âIâll hold your hand through this nightmare,â My higher self chirped.Â
âThatâs what I tell my listeners on my podcast,â I chirped back at her.Â
âYeah and not to be a bitch. But girl. Sometimes you need to hear your own words.âÂ
I smiled because my higher self was painfully right.
I needed to hear myself.
Listen to the words I write and throw out into the world.
Suddenly a flood of my own mantras downpoured over my brain: there is a beautiful freedom in breaking down. You get to rebuild yourself into whatever you want to be. You are the bouncer of the nightclub that is your mind. Mistakes donât break you they make you. Heartbreak is the perfect reset button for your life. The messiest paths lead to the most extraordinary destinations. Protect your fucking sparkle. Protect your fucking sparkle. Protect your fucking sparkle.Â
Suddenly I understood what my higher self, (who is the ghostwriter of all my good work), meant by âprotect your fucking sparkle.â I realized Iâd only half understood it this whole time. I thought it meant lean away from the things that dull you and lean into the things that light you up. And yesâthatâs true. But itâs also so much deeper than that.Â
âIâm having an Oprah-esque âah-ha!â moment,â I confessed to my Higher Self. âThisââ I broadly gestured with my arms like the Italian movie star I was meant to beââTHIS is what it means to protect your fucking sparkle.âÂ
âSay more,â my Higher Self crooned.Â
âWhen life comes at you this HARDâwhen everything flips and youâre pushed to your limitâyour sparkle is at high risk. Because your sparkle represents the most sacred thing of all: your integrity.â I paused for a pregnant, loaded moment then continued to pontificate. âWho you are when no one else is watching? How do you react when Life throws you the most unexpected of curveballs? Do you compromise your sparkle? Do you plot revenge or cower in fear or hurt othersâor hurt yourself?â I shuddered.
âSay more,â my Higher Self, the consummate coach, crooned for the second time.Â
âProtecting your sparkle means staying true to yourselfâeven when people or circumstances try to knock you into the sand with them. Protecting your sparkle is about rising above no matter what. Not giving energy or power to the darkness. Trusting that the light is the strongest force of all.âÂ
âBrava,â my Higher Self grinned.Â
âAnd alsoââÂ
âGirl, I love you but youâve made your point. Letâs add âbrevityâ to your list of birthday intentions, shall we?â
âCan we have a glass of champagne and celebrate my birthday early tonightâjust us?âÂ
âObviously.âÂ
My higher self and I cozied up on my hot pink couch together. For the first time in days, IÂ relaxed. While I hadnât wanted to go into my birthday âlike thisââI did want to go into my birthday like this, you know? Chilling on the couch, protecting my fucking sparkle, knowing in the deepest depths of my bones that the greatest milestone of all isnât marriage and kids or money honeyâbut to have an unwavering sense of self no matter what.
For that is the sparkliest sparkle of all, my darling. And in order to protect the glimmer shimmer that is usâwe must rise above the ash and travel upward, âtill we get to the place where our higher self resides. We must stay with her way up above ground. And as long as we donât let the negative pull drag us downâweâll be safe. Safe no matter what happens.
(I love you all so much.)
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