moya

There is no passion to be found playing small–in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living. ~Nelson Mandela

I was a hungry kid. Hungry for life. I wanted to taste it all; absorbed everything like a sponge. Enough was never enough.

I believed that life wanted the same from me. When I did something I threw myself into it…all the way to the moon and back.

Later on I learned what it is to lose an appetite; to feel like my plate was overflowing and to selectively, bit by bit, withdraw from decadence. In that essential, fundamental existence, my world became very small and—so I thought—safe, sane, manageable. The simple life was surprisingly filling; a profoundly meaningful time of fine-tuning my palette, of tweaking my awareness of life’s subtlest yet–make no mistake–potent offerings. But it was also limiting. Stagnating. Blinding. I hadn’t even realized that I was dialled into a sensory deprivation Code Red.

It took the breakup of a sixteen-year relationship to bring me around.

I awoke suddenly HUNGRY, and realized that although a lack of passion may have been necessary to show me what I was missing, I prefer hungry. It keeps me moving…makes me want to reach out. Sweet delicious life! And there’s the key. In a word.

Life.

Have you lost your senses? Your true taste for life?

Live.

You were born for this. Find your healthy balance. That includes your passions. The rest of us need you to be you.

Become the Sommelier* of your experience on this planet. Taste. Discern. Share. Use your experience and your new awareness for the greater good. And be of a greater goodness to yourself. Learn everything you can about you. What do you care about? What moves you? What is your most decadent slice of life? How can you fill your glass without overdoing it? Where do you go with the bitter bits; the parts of life, of yourself that you just can’t take? How, if you have been lost, will you find your way home again? When, if you have been betrayed, will you regain trust in your senses? And why is this happening to you, anyway? If you don’t know, ask someone who cares. Let them be your sommelier. Let them guide you to the finer points of life, of yourself. Slowly—and sometimes quickly—you will come to your senses. You will get your own sensibilities on track. And you will know that you are as you are meant to be. Passionate. Sensitive and sensible. Hungry.

Alive.

*A Sommelier is, in simple terms, a wine expert whose responsibilities lie predominantly in tasting and selecting wines (and, in some cases, a range of alcoholic beverages and tobaccos) for restaurants and, ultimately, their patrons.

First steps. First kiss. First job. First love. First car. The first time of anything is a portal to a different world…the beginning of a new reality.

First-timers can be like children…wide-eyed, curious, excitable…wading, often leaping, into uncharted waters with only the notion that life will take care of them. They may also habour a favourable assumption that joy is their birthright.

This summer, for the first time, I went to the ocean.

Stepping into seawaters, even rounding the corner to glimpse the ocean for the first time got my heart pumping and my feet moving. I was a girl again…discovering something I’d never seen before, making it my own, and me—becoming more a part of the bigger picture in the process.

This entire summer has, in fact, been a steady stream of firsts–each making the world a whole new place and me a vital, vibrant part of it.

There have also been plenty of near-firsts; things that I haven’t done for so long they feel like the first time. (“Feels Like the First Time”, Foreigner? Yep. Listening.) Such as getting on a plane. Or a ferry. Or the road to a new life. Anything that transports me away from the comfort of what I know to the uncertainty of what I don’t. And, for the first time in a long time, actually being okay with that. There have been a few detours, of course, but I’m going for it.

Because it feels right. And it’s my turn. Again.

I laughed out loud when this arrived in the mail from my sister, Michele, the other day. And, today, when I posted it as my profile picture on Facebook, I laughed some more. The little one-inch button has impact. Big things do come in size small. That’s reassuring.

I’m working on a major writing project…sorry, it’ll be awhile before I can say much about it. Like an unborn child, it needs to incubate. I will say that it is a new screenplay and, so far, the foundation work is being laid in nicely. I just have to make sure I keep up the rhythm and don’t let myself be too distracted.

However…

I’ve realized, just today, that I not only enjoy the smaller, less intense projects of writing for this blog, making a verse or a song and, yes, the dialogue I take part in on Facebook…I need it. It helps me breathe easier, laugh and connect. It keeps me tethered to the moment at hand, to what’s happening now. It’s grounding without being restrictive. I can drift off into the clouds with my big baby, but slip down occasionally to the kitchen for eats, to the common room for thoughtful, emotional–sometimes comical–moments with my Facebook pals and/or non-virtual friends…or to steal away here in the attic to put together a wee byte to share with you on the veranda.

It’s good to be discliplined and devoted to whatever we feel passionately about. But it’s important to give ourselves a break, to cue our serious side not to take itself quite so seriously. And, if the BIG thing seems altogether elusive, to pay attention to the little things that bring satisfaction, perhaps even joy, right now. It is from them that the larger picture is dreamed…and drawn…and made real.

Size small is good, even if it’s simply a place to begin when it feels like you’re cluelessly wandering from room to room.