An attempt. . .

at a beginning

nicole.bretall

2/7/2021 2 min read

Make space for what is. I see it written on that scrap of paper. The one i scribbled on while i was driving home from b's house, listening to a tarot reader and trying to maintain my composure well enough to keep the mazda on the road. Spaciousness. but it's something more than just spaciousness. because it's not necessarily about the physical space being large, vast, sprawling. it's more about an inner spaciousness - a willingness both internally and externally for there to be the space to meet life as it is. dissecting fictions and dismantling appearances. this spaciousness and space is as much about beauty as it is the unsightly. it's the paradox, the binary opposition, the things that make life crushingly painful and effervescently beautiful. it's about having space for everything. 

and so what am i doing here? i keep saying "when this, then that" as if my life is a math equation (that never really ever did really exist in the end - props if you get that, you're in the right place and if you didn't, you're still in the right place) that will someday be solved or that i can wait to live until it's solved. so as i sit here and wait to begin my blog until i've walked the threshold, held the keys, taken possession - is that really being with what is? not quite. 

so as not to make a hypocrite of myself before this blog even begins, before i ever introduce the idea of avaraa to the world (or to the three people who i'll ask to read my ramblings) - i had better open myself to what is. make space for what is. see what will come of this time that i anxiously, painfully wait in limbo on the cliff of the unknown, that which is seems unknowable. i had better make space for this feeling, this experience, these moments, this uncomfort, and this safety. before this time is gone and i realize i had squandered the moment before the journey began. before i wake up again and 10 years have passed and i'm not sure what i've done with them. before all of my bright ideas remain that, ideas. 

in these days of trying to make space in the midst of distraction, confusion, boredom, obligation - i have been sorting and packing. reviewing my possession, reviewing my memories. the days past. the feelings forgotten. the concert tickets, the college lanyard, the graves of boyfriends past (not literal - this was my college roommate's term for relationship memory boxes), all the scribblings throughout the years that said the same thing over and over again. make space for the paradox of being incandescently overjoyed and inconsolably grief-stricken. and i have realized any home of mine will need to contain space for these feelings, these experiences. space to safely feel them and let them go. space to welcome joy and let sadness be felt but not clung on to. 

a space that will embrace my paradoxical love of chaos and order. 

a space that will be cool yet warm. 

a space that will be inviting yet remain closed, so i can keep it safe for the few i really let in. and hopefully, i'll be the one i let in. because i am still uncertain what home looks and feels like. and who i am to the fullest when actually in that space.