Sometime last week, I was fartin' around on Facebook, which I'm prone to do. I did one of those "games". You know the ones; "Can you name these films of the 80s?" or "What queen were you in a past life?". This one was "What word will define your life in the New Year?".
I got freedom.
Apparently, I give a lot of credence to these Facebook apps because this word has been haunting me. Freedom? Freedom from what? I freakin' have everything I need. What the hell do I need freedom from? Why can't I have a word like "bold" or "explosive" or "fabulous"? Whine. Whine. Whine.
What was it about this damned word? I do not worry so much about the "test" result that determined I was Queen of the Fairies or that I only scored 80 percent on my film knowledge. Freedom is a good word. But I pouted internally about this word for days.
Yesterday, Dec. 31, I spent the day doing what I do every Dec. 31. What I have done every Dec. 31 for most of my life: making plans and proposals for how I will be a better person in the New Year.
It's like I see myself as a car. I will be the new model; sleeker, more efficient. I will grace the showroom floor with every single one of society's expectations. I will be thinner, busy-er, more organized. I will be the model of womanly perfection.
It's now 9am Jan 1, 2018.
You know what?
Fuck that shit.
Fuck it all.
After obsessing about the word freedom for a week, I decided I'd retake that stupid word generator. This time I got tinker.
What the hell does that mean? I'm going to spend 2018 puttering around?
I looked the work up in the dictionary.
"An unskillful or clumsy worker", "wanderer", "beggar". I thought about the tinkers I knew from stories and movies. The eccentric little man fixing pots and pans with the tools and supplies they could find. Sometimes the repairs were successful. More often than not, the holes would appear again, in another spot.
That's really how I've been treating myself for the better part of 50 years. I have been mending a patch here and there with the expectations of others. Fixing a break with more hurt feelings disguised as compliance and progress.
Again I say, Fuck that shit.
Scrolling through Instagram this morning -- already breaking my vow to "spend less time on social media" -- I came across a post from Glennon Doyle, an author and inspirational warrior. She wrote, "I so highly recommend becoming yourself... For 2018, let's just be happy. Then no matter what, it will be perfect. Be you. no more self improvement, just self love, Now. As you are. You are beautiful."
And then it hit me. That's freedom.
Freedom from all those expectations. Freedom to throw off the chains of "should". They've been confining to me a person that I am not. Freedom from the judgement that poisons my blood with a fatal toxin that is "I don't deserve the good, the success.... the peace."
Freedom from the fear of failure that I carry like an anchor.
Freedom to do and be whatever the hell I want because I owe nothing. My debt has been paid in full.
I am free to be unapologetic-ly , explosively, boldly me.
And that, my friends and residents of my Queendom, is what I wish for all of you.
So heres to Facebook apps and Instagram and the freedom to feel inspiration when it find you.