Wake up and paint

Take a moment, a minute, a second even, to realize what surrounds you. Take it all in, breathe and be thankful; there is always something to be thankful for, it’s important to find that something and hold on to it.
Today I am blessed to be sitting at a small round, light-almost-white table, on a balcony of the 14th floor. This balcony faces an openness of city and beach. To my right the beautiful shades of aqua-green to dark-blue of the Atlantic, to my left the lucky houses with an inlet as their backyards. Most have small boats sitting at their back-door docks. The wind is rather chilly on this beautiful November afternoon. The brick-like-red of the streets matches perfectly most of the roofs of the city. The crisp-cool wind caresses the leaves of the trees and the surface of the water, as it breezes over Miami.
I feel at peace. Not because I have accomplished everything I want to accomplish, nor because I have reached my mental, spiritual and fitness goals. Though I am definitely closer than I was before, it truly turns out to be an “every day” thing.
Truth be told I am a freelance writer with scattered clients. I have a hefty student loan to repay, tons of laundry to wash, a mouth to feed, other than my own (I count my dog-child as a dependent). I have many books to write, places to see, cultures to explore, foods to eat; an eating disorder to constantly challenge. A whole life to live and experience.
Even though I have not fully figured out how to be a functioning adult; despite being thirty years old. By “functioning” I mean one that fits perfectly within society. I am at peace, I am happy.
Thirty, in all honesty, has not turned out to be as bad as many made it seem. Once you admit you don’t know shit, and the shit you were supposed to know by now is just starting to make sense, you realize that being thirty means that you’re just starting to truly experience life (bills, loans, figuring out where to live, how you fit in the professional world and all).
Yes, perhaps others have reached this “so we’re all just figuring things out” point of their lives a bit sooner. But regardless of when you reach this point, there is some sort of relief knowing that it’s ok to not have things figured out and still be blissfully happy.
Life, or rather the socially constructed ideal of what life should be: going to school, getting a job, getting a house, having a family and spend, spend, spend, is a rigid mold and it’s not necessarily the only way to live. That mold is far too rigid for the misfits of the world (turns out there are many of us), for those of us who don’t have defined edges, but rather we edge on everything. Life, as I’m finding out, is a beautiful feast of experiences, a collage of ups and downs. It’s the canvas on which we use every color, even the dark ones, and we paint our story as we please.
Sadly this rigid mold inhibits many to see the canvas as a colorful possibility. Society’s mold has turned the canvas into a template with pre-determined shapes and rigid lines. You cannot paint over the lines. You only use dull limited colors. Sleeping and disconnected, gawking at shiny screens. The canvas loses meaning, it becomes repetitive. Sleep and wake up just to repaint the same pattern all over again. Most colors are put away; forgotten.
I am peacefully blissful because I live on the outskirts of society, I paint with all the colors; they dance outside the lines…

Take a moment, a minute, a second even, and go paint outside the lines…


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