Fender Benders and The Disappearing Man

So as I was driving into work today, I tuned in some Lori McKenna and was humming along to Witness to your Life (my favorite) as I was heading towards the downtown skyline on yet another work day.

She was singing about how all you need is someone who won't let you disappear, all you need is a witness to your life to make you feel important and purposeful. That line sticks with me, and will pop up in the strangest of times. When I burn a pancake, when I get lost, when I am being lazy, when I feel my dreams dying.

I listened to the song twice, and couldn't miss the beauty of the day. The morning was cool and thin, not thick and humid. I watched in envy as the barista at my coffee shop, whipped up a cappuccino with her eyebrow piercing, dyed black hair, and free spirit- I deduced she was either in school or was an artist. And then I took inventory of my own self. I felt so strange in my work clothes with my hair pulled back checking the clock every two minutes to be sure I wouldn't be late.

All I wanted to do was lay canvases all over my living room floor and paint for hours while listening to Sara Groves and Sonya Kitchell. I envisioned myself sitting on my deck, scribbling in my journal that I haven't touched in weeks, and just praising God in the glory of the day.

As I climbed back into my car and puttered into town, I came to a stop at the light. I stared down at my odometer, it read over 50,000 miles. I asked myself where have I been? In those miles what roads have I traveled? Which ones should I have avoided, and more importantly which miles have I avoided in order to stay on the safe and predictable?

All of a sudden I looked up and my bumper was kissing the bumper in front of me. I jerked my head back and threw the car in reverse. I could see the inquisitive blonde staring at me from her rear view window. Her eyebrows furrowed and her lip slightly curled up.

Crap.

The good news was that it wasn't a fender bender it was just a bumper kiss. We laughed it off, thankfully, and I got back into my car.

I was humbled.

Here I go thinking all about myself again, and how I hate feeling imprisoned by a building and computers and deadlines. It never fails, when I get so focused on myself I end up making stupid mistakes, or worse just not paying attention and bumping into other people while feeling sorry for myself.

I am not going to lie, this blog has little hints of pity me, but I am just mourning the slumber of my creative self. I miss my words, ideas, and songs that used to come to me- or more accurately the time that I used to have in order to wait for them to emerge. I miss the feeling of freedom and wonder, and how I used to witness the unfolding of a day. A slow reveal, that could be equal parts quiet and chaos.

Every day is a gift, but some days feel like an unopened present that just sits on the counter for days on end, ignored and unappreciated. In my house I have stacks of invisible gifts, days that were never truly opened, days that were never, nor ever will be, truly lived.

In the meantime I will have to settle for slowly disappearing. I do feel a quiet suffocation, one that is enforced by mortgages, exhaustion, disconnection, false excitement, empty emails, and paychecks.

My heart hurts, and I miss who I used to be.

I guess that's what happens as you grow up. You change.

Well, I need a little Benjamin Button action. I am not ready to let my old self disappear! I am not ready to turn myself over yet, I don't want to lose the childish imagination inside of me, the voice that whispers that dreams do come true.

Because lately, the grown up woman inside of me has been telling me they don't.

Shame on her.