The last four days have given me a lot of time to myself in the evenings to simply be with myself, whether going over my journal notes form my trip, catching up on webcomics, or just surfing the internet. It's felt good, all these things. And today I wrote in my paper journal, all reflections, inspired not by a new place or thing, but simply by my own thoughts in my head.
Today I feel reckless somehow. For the first time in months, I went for a drive after dropping Derrick off at Google. It wasn't unfamiliar, that feeling - I always recognize that clenching in my chest that urges me to drive forever into the night. Tonight as I drove I wondered if it was a fear of the responsibilities in my world today that caused it, or simply my natural desire for utter freedom (which I normally quash in light of the fact that this is not a sustainable way of living in today's world). I treasure this feeling; it reminds me of myself two years ago - emboldened, full of obsessions for music and cars and everything that could possibly fit into the realm of what I imagined to be cool.
Oddly, as soon as I got onto the freeway and drove for a little bit, the feeling began to fade. It's still there now, but it's only a marble of the fire it usually is. Even so, I treasure it, welcome it back. Lately I've felt more and more of a complete person, been working to allow all the parts of my personality into all sections of my life.
During practice this evening, I slowly came to the realization that myself on the floor is not just Jen the dancer. I am in all things the girlish desire to look graceful just for once, the businesswoman who knows how to drive projects through, the craving for freedom and passion, the quiet of not quite knowing what to say. As a dancer I can only be as much as I am in the real world, and at my maximum, I can convey the complexity of myself. This is what I must strive for - not to be most like one person or another, but to be the most of everything that Jen is on every moment on the floor.
For some time I feel I've hidden parts of myself in different sections of my life. And perhaps at work, or at dance, or with friends, this is the most prudent thing to do to paint the picture that people expect. But like my silence, broken since months ago, I owe much more than that to the world. Here begins the process of unlocking - perhaps this is its own recklessness. For too long have I thrilled from keeping my secrets. I ask myself: How much can you be? I once thought I could be everything; I convinced myself it was best not to be everything. What a waste of my life that is.
Here I am. I am what I will.