A man I knew in college (he found me fascinating, like a Cobra, not like a bunny that you’d bring home) called me ‘mercurial’. He didn’t mean it as a compliment and I took it with a dose of shame, that I couldn’t find the center and sit in it, unshifting. Finding the center and staying there is the hardest work I’ve ever done.
Two sets of parents, opposites conflicting, and me, the pickle in the middle. Unpalatable polarities, I couldn’t side with either, and had no camp to place my flag, no spirit of belonging. The weather is mercurial (especially in New England). We find the sudden changes challenging yet amusing (“Don’t like it? Just wait five minutes!”) Realize we can’t shape it to our preferences. We like our people in a box. Comfortably predictable. Consistent. Shove me toward a box and I am fangs and venom. Surprising, with my sweet overlay.
All my life, I’ve only wanted to be free. I hated my body for entrapping my soul. Hated the density. Wanting to fly but dead weight kept me tethered. Cobra, Falcon, Bunny, Swan, I am free to be whimsical without apology. I’m not on earth to please you. Turns out pleasing myself serves you all the better. Martyrs aren’t easy to live with.
In summary, here’s a window on my world I shared with Doug one morning: “I could do this. I could do that. I could do that with this. I could do this with that.” And so I go on, being led from within, dismantling boxes. Mercurial.