Strength

I am a knife juggler in a circus of madness. At least four daggers spin wildly before my face, and I agilely grab the handles, trying to avoid sharp pain. Sometimes, however, my hand slips, and I am cut.

It’s become difficult as I try to balance them all, for they encircle everything else that otherwise remains stable in my life. No, my existence isn’t a total morass, but the waters have been muddied. I cannot control any of these spinning blades, yet they continue to slice me emotionally.

My life, it seems, continuously welcomes upheaval, as if I almost wear a bumper sticker on my forehead: “I heart turmoil.” Truly, I don’t. After all, as a kid, I wanted to be either an architect or a librarian. You can’t get any more vanilla than that, except perhaps engineer or IT nerd.

But the largest knife has been sharpening itself for years, and I’ve learned to dodge and weave its path through a cocktail of meditation and avoidance. Nietzsche said that one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. Well, I’ve given birth to a galaxy beneath a row of strobe lights.

This is why I need to rely on my resilience lately—to remember that I need to love life, not because I am used to living but because I am used to loving. I will own my dancing stars, continue with little regret, accept what I cannot change, pray that those who do can find comfort in their new existence.

And I shall follow Kendall’s latest mantra: "Keep calm and eat a cupcake."