Dear Gabriel,
I’m getting stronger. My run today was better than yesterday’s (usually it’s the other way around when I first start exercising again). Normally, when I do some sort of exercise that I’ve been neglecting for a while, my body performs like a pro the first time I do it, and then the next day, I’m toast. Not so today. I shaved a full 5 minutes off my run time.
What I see when I stretch my legs: my scarf (before I take it off at the halfway point) and the cord to my headphones.
I was encouraged to discover that I ran with purpose this morning instead of an intimidating sense of fierceness. It would seem that the strong emotional reaction I had yesterday was more of a release than a lasting effect, so I can now channel focus into my runs instead of the “holy hell, I have a lot of aggression” reactions that make me question my kindness and compassion.
I feel so much myself when I run. It’s like feeling myself when I write, only the energy is moving in a different way. When I run, I dream of living somewhere else — completely self-sufficient, independently working, and loving my life. I sense a move coming on, but I couldn’t tell you when or where. Not soon, but it’s coming. I am separating from my family in ways that are … well my family might call them extreme, but I’d just call them authentic.
My parents stumbled upon my Blogging in the Buff series, as I said a few letters ago, and it wasn’t long after that I told them I was going to take a break from church. I know Mom and Dad feel freaked out about that, but going to church is like trying to fit into clothes that are the wrong size; they don’t fit. I’m not the right size, or they aren’t the right size. Regardless of the reason, me and the clothes do not fit.
“But what about Krystal?” Mom asks.
“It would do Krystal a great deal of damage if she doesn’t go to church,” Dad says.
I ask you, which is worse: My daughter growing up watching her mother futilely struggle to fit herself into a pair of clothes that aren’t made for her (and thereby learn that this must be the way to behave when you grow up), or watching her mother be true to herself, even though it goes against cultural norms, thereby giving her a choice to either go with the flow or against it — whatever her authenticity dictates?
I’m choosing the latter. I’ve been forcing myself to go to church for the past 18 months for Krystal’s sake, and I’m done. It does not fit. Yes, I’ve tried. Above and beyond what I thought was necessary. And you know what? It does not fit. End of story.
I feel like the mule in the middle of a couple of horses. No less lovely; just different.
I’m trying to figure out how to navigate this Thanksgiving without drama. It is clear that Mom wants to talk to me about my nude blogging. I’m dreaming of being away when I run — away and by myself as a proper adult — and I’m hoping that my “away” energy doesn’t shout too loudly when we’re all together. More than anything, I don’t want the evening to be about me.
If you’re not too busy elsewhere, I’d love it if your energy popped in and showered me with some encouragement. I know that you admire my out-of-the-box thinking, maybe are in a bit of awe regarding some of the things I’ve said or done, but I also know that there’s a very strong sense of survival in your mortal form, and I wouldn’t be surprised that if I saw you now in person and talked to you about all this, that you’d say something like, “Well what do you expect? You’re going against the culture here.” As if I should just shut my mouth and go with the flow if I know what’s good for me.
We all leave our footprints somewhere. Whether it’s in the crevasse of footprints gone before us, or way out in left field, it’s there. Mine is all the way in outer space, but then you knew that already.
The thing is, Gabriel, my writing, my revolutionary mind, my nude project, it was received with acclaim and great appreciation in other circles. Just because my family doesn’t like it doesn’t mean no one does. Just because I commit social suicide here doesn’t mean I won’t be accepted somewhere else. But I’ll allow myself to grieve my circumstances, even if my waywardness seems like folly to those close to me, including you.
On the other hand, I won’t want to hastily misjudge your opinion of me. Maybe you feel differently. It’s hard to say, since you rarely offered verbal input on how you were feeling or what you were thinking. I’d be doing you a disservice if I assumed you felt one way or another.
So I’ll run. Not “run to,” just run. And there my manifesting will be at its most powerful to give me a life that I’m dreaming of. A life that includes other black sheep like me, with hearts that move in tandem with each other, and dreams they manifest regularly — because they know that dreams are nothing near impossible.
I’ll keep an eye out for you, old friend. Today is the best day of my life.
Yours ever,
Violet
