March: Weaving Time

I struggle to find the beginning as I traipse around the middle, in the middle of movement what can truly be seen as clear?

It was blurring as it passed me by, it was glimpses I strained to keep. 

I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to share for the month of March and I am somehow rattled at how fast February went. Just a few weeks ago was my birthday and somehow it feels a bit faint.

I’ve been rushing to get here. I’ve been pushing my body and my capacity more than I have in a while, all in an attempt to lean into discomfort and grow. And I have grown!

Mostly tired. 

I am a blessed child of immigrants, physical labor is what fed me first, I have seen with my eyes and witnessed work done at its hardest. I am a child of fruit pickers, construction workers, restaurant cooks, business owners, and business thrivers. 

I am a child of privilege to not know the weight of physical labor at its most painful. 

I can not be afraid of effort, I can not be afraid to fail. 

I am not my parents, but I am my father’s daughter, I know I belong where I want to be. I am my mother’s daughter, I know I carry working hands. 

So as I take this pause, as stillness fills my eyes with entire pictures and whole words. I let go of fear with the momentum of my moving, I let go of convincing myself that I need to become more of anything to be another. 

I am made of sturdy fibers, I am here woven whole. With all that was done before me and all I have to still create. And that as I keep moving forward, whether fast or slow, I shed and let go of layers not made for me, fabrics not made for my taste.

I am tired, and rest is needed. But I am unafraid and sure that every recess brings more, with me at the loom nothing is scarce.