“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.”
-from David Copperfield
When I came to live with my parents a little more than a year ago, it was a temporary situation, no more than two maybe three months in the interim of leaving one place while I found another. Indeed, I had a new job and found several apartment opportunities in the city and was beginning to shift back into my own life again. But life is funny, you think you have your hand wrapped around your future but no…things change, jobs disappear…your father lands in the hospital. I found I was so grateful that I was there, that I could be there to help, to take over the house. I remember driving out to the hospital early one morning, buying magazines for him to read and sitting with him and shaving him and looking at his face. I kept thinking, this is a gift, this time.
With all the damage that has been done within the insular framework of my family, the scarred past, the history – so much has been lost. I did not choose those things, just as I did not choose for me and my sister to witness the things we did but I have a choice now.
Being sustainable isn’t, at least for me in the now, about getting an apartment and having a space. Don’t get me wrong, that would be nice, to have my own – a place to make art and a private space, but in ten fifteen years when I look back I won’t regret not having done that as much as I would regret not stepping back away from my ego and watching my family enjoy my son while I enjoy them. It seems like such a small thing to do. Such a small sacrifice for collective memory.
My friend Mikey once told me that when you find your voice, assuming that it’s just one voice you’ll find, it most likely will not be the one you had envisioned for yourself.
I think about those words. A lot. I have shared with so many people. If I am indeed the hero of my own life then I have to parse its meaning. Try to unravel it within the context of me.
The scariest part, I am finding out, isn’t the obstacles or the stumbles and falls and the occasional self sabotage. It’s the slow realization that I can do this. That is terrifying. I can do this. I can live even though I have never been here before, in this moment of Hilesh-ness where I am walking on unsteady “future” ground.
I am not sure if that makes any sense.
