I used to write about my internal process. The real me. The woman within. Not who you see when I walk down the street. Not who you see when I stand before you, naked as Joy. I used to write about the me who felt loved. Cherished. I used to write about the me who felt respected. Like a queen.
I used to write about the me who felt safe. Like a baby sleeping peacefully in her mother’s arms. I used to write about the me who knew and felt pleasure. Like a whip of wind rippling across the water. Like a volcano exploding with heat. I used to write when I was whole.
But was I truly? Was I truly whole? Or did my self esteem require the love of my lover. My best friend. My mother, father((s)), sisters, brothers. My children. As I drove down some lonely highway somewhere in New Mexico, I saw my reflection in the rear view mirror. I did not recognize the woman who stared back at me. I did not see me. I saw someone shattered. I politely asked Siri to play Glen Hansard on Spotify. She accommodated my request. Glen guided my journey and evolved into a series of songs that moved me to tears.
I sat on the side of the road crying. Not necessarily tears of sadness. Not necessarily tears of Joy. Just tears. Streaming as if a spring had cracked open. A never-ending spring of tears…and so it began. The real journey I am on. The journey of being Joy. Not the Joy you know. Not the Joy my friends, family and lovers know. Not the Joy even I know. I’ve never met this version of me yet. I have been on the road for 4 weeks and counting. Just me and Mimsi. I am excited to see what’s next. I wake each morning and choose where to go next. Sometimes I pull over at a rest area, thinking I know where I’m going. When I wake, I choose a different destination. The destination is me.
I don’t fully understand the journey of Joy, but there’s one thing I know for sure; it is the path to self love. From my heart to yours, raw, open and honest. -Joy