where becoming starts

notes on identity

hello sweet friend, you dappled glow of sunlight beneath the trees,

do you ever stand back to notice, not in envy or criticism, but maybe more in admiration, the people around you that seem to wear themselves so well? like life is a well-tailored dress that clings to their movement. something about them feels sure and individualized. they inhabit their bodies so fully, carry their identity so vibrantly, you’d think they were born with every moment that followed in mind. 

still, I have to believe we all share some of the same experiences; lose our place in indecision, stay awake remembering an embarrassing conversation from the month before, but I think what I get stuck on is the certainty to which we can know ourselves. so many of my conversations now are asking for the backstory of the people I know—wondering if there’s a step in the process to becoming that I’ve missed. how did you decide you wanted to move out East? when did you first pick up art? did you always know you wanted to study medicine?

it’s just past the dusk of May. parts of me are feeling brand new—and not to say refreshed and sparkling, but young and cleaving close to my hem. I tell my therapist I want to be in charge of my life and I know what that looks like, but not where it lies on a map. as if I’m asking for something no one can hand back to me and feel confused the longer my palms lie empty. 

I tell her I want to be in charge of my life and I forget I’m traveling tomorrow on a trip I planned myself. we go over my list of goals from a few months back and I missed crossing four off that I’ve done since then. I tell her I want to be a take-charge kind of person and forget that I’ve set boundaries when faced with things I can’t talk about quite yet; practice asking myself, “yes, but what do I want?” whenever the occasion arises. I think I’m waiting for a click. a small stir, a sensation at the base of my neck. something gentler than my adult teeth coming in, but just enough recognition that a newer self is emerging. I think I’m waiting at the door for my own arrival and not noticing what I’m becoming in the meantime. is this how it works? 

if this a slow bloom, a quiet materializing, I’ll stay patient. I go to bed finding myself with more opinions than I woke up with. I hear my sentences without the lift of uncertainty in my voice. I’m deciding I can take as long as I like.

with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck