Here's a poem that I wrote in 1999 after my first year of medical school and during a divorce. I think of this as a important punctuation mark in my life story, and it is a pleasure to share it with you. The title is Enter State Solo. I have butterflies in my stomach right now. I'm about to turn around, look you straight in the eye, and tell you a story that is mine.
No, it's not exactly a comfortable thing. But you see, I dared myself. I double dared myself. And there is a thrill hidden in the vulnerability of such disclosure. See, I've been leaving places that are depleted of joy lately. Places where souls once entwined in reverent embraces disentangle. Disengage, de animate, and devolve.
There had been a downward spiral that began with the color of my hair. There was a significant other on the opposite side of a nearly insurmountable fence, splintering me as I straddled it. Scaring off a few loved ones as I jumped it. I fled the negativity that attempts to overwhelm and began anew the search for what brings my soul joy.
A life unframed by limits to potential. A life framed by the radiance of supportive, kindred souls. As an adjunct to my travels, away from one set of circumstances and toward another, I decided to take a drive. Of 5, 400 miles planning to disappear for a spell into the wild blue yonder. I gathered my courage around me and prepared to face new places and experiences alone and happy.
I was planning to use this courage, this audacity to take my hands off the wheel. You know, let universe steer for a while. Breathing into all the pain and pleasure that might come. Recoiling from neither. Healing with distance the harm that had also been done by distance. I entered the cocoon of my car, turned up the music, and took the advice of a wise friend who once told me, Create what you want, girl.
From the comfort of my car, I took in some remarkable sights. Did you know a small herd of camels is grazing a pasture in the middle of Texas? That in California they call their prisons men's colonies. That there actually is a roadside Bates Motel in western Idaho. Did you realize that it's butterfly season on the interstates of America?
They're flitting through deserts that could easily kill and flirting with disaster as they playfully dodge cars like their game's goal is to make eye contact with the drivers before being carried by the windshear to safety. Well, usually. There are occasional casualties. But what is death to them? Just another metamorphosis.
Relinquishing old states, embracing new ones. What is it about entering new states anyway? That compulsion to pose with silly grins next to less than clever signs like, Welcome to colorful Colorado! As we cross those seemingly arbitrary thresholds. Near giddy as we anticipate the acquisition of a new snow globe or spoon or shot glass.
I'm getting a bit antsy now. Ready to emerge from my carcoon. Wondering if I'm going to feel like a social butterfly, or an antisocial one. I'm passing some of my fellow travelers. Being passed by others. Trying not to judge in either case. Some of them are using me as a pace setter. I wonder if they see me as a human shield?
Or, as a leader, I'm tired of the obsessive game I'm compelled to play, constantly dividing miles by minutes, minutes by miles. What's the fascination with making good time, when making a good time is so much more the point? In fact, as a gesture of choosing to pursue that point, I hereby renounce the harsh, critical voice that haunts me and my body.
I may not change the world, but I will change my perception of it. I will choose to recognize the vast wealth available to me. The awesome landscapes, impossibly beautiful stars, trees and mountains that feel like family, and a tribe of souls with intriguing stories and intentions that are pure, powerful, and good.
Like the butterflies, this family of souls embraces metamorphosis. Unassumingly, they challenge the world's assumptions with their facile shifting of states, their transformations. Challenging my own assumptions always teaches me something, usually to be less assuming. So here I am, challenging assumptions, mapping new approaches, learning to navigate the interstate solo.
Thank you for indulging me in sharing that poem with you. it's bringing back memories because at the time I also, I performed it with my then girlfriend and had a whole like 10 minute dance piece choreographed to the soundtrack of this poem being read and. It was the last time that I actually performed, um, as a professional dancer was with that poem.
And it is really fun to revisit it and also to use it as, um, sort of a measure of intention that feels just as true today. Um, and I, I welcome that intention into the Solving for Joy podcast, and I hope that you enjoyed hearing it. I'll see you in the next episode.
