How You Do It
A moment that changed everything
When I was twenty, my roommate, who looked like an 80’s version of Madonna––red lips, vintage 1940’s heels, a blonde updo––had an ex-boyfriend who was an artist. He’d step in the front door, peel off his sheepskin lined motorcycle jacket and then maybe help her make a soufflé. Once, smoking a cigarette and lying under her sheets he asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I started, stammered, couldn’t quite figure out what to say. I knew so many things I wanted to do but wasn’t sure what was sensible or doable. I thought when anyone older than me asked what I wanted to do they meant a thought-out plan that included what my W-2s would look like. He sensed my trepidation and said, “Oh no, Danusha! That’s not how you do it. You’re trying to say something you think makes sense! This is what you do: Just say anything, and then make it true!”
I have never forgotten those words. Anything? Yes, anything resonant, anything I wanted. I said, “OK, then I’m going to study painting.” Which I did. For a few glorious years. Some of the happiest in my life. Painting in the studio for up to eight hours a day. Got an actual degree in it and spent many hours gazing at the people and objects I translated into watercolor and pigmented oil. And somehow that risk, that leaping off into an imagined life, allowed to me then take the next risk: to become a writer. Not just the “I hide my writing in my computer or under my bed” kind, but the kind who was (yikes!) willing to cast the net of my heart out into dark, unknown waters.
Perhaps you, too, are trying to be sensible, to say a thing others want to hear. If so, take this as a sign to be extravagant with yourself, to believe you can do what your heart most desires.
As for the roommate’s ex boyfriend, I never knew what happened to him. He got up, rolled out of bed naked (a somersault if I remember correctly) and went to his shop to build handmade mechanical toys. Am I remembering that right? He also planned to drive his motorcycle across country. Wherever he is, I owe him the biggest thank you for the gift he gave me then, at twenty-something. The gift of wildness. The gift of joy. The gift of having more of myself to give away.
Shared to FB. Being extravagant with ourselves, so very important. Thank you , Danusha, for this jewel. You show how taking the first step opens up next steps. Every step takes courage and builds resilience. We never know what will come. At 65, instead of retiring, whatever that means, I went to Lesotho, southern Africa to volunteer, doing sexual violence and empowerment work with girls, the most thrilling experience of my life. I went back 5 more years and helped grandmothers deal with grief from AIDS deaths. If I hadn't leaped each time I needed to change my life to align more with who I am, I would not have been able to do that work that feeds me to this day. Now at 81, I ask young baristas what their passion is. They are often startled at the question and say I don't know, but then do have answers that they may not have spoken out loud, which in itself is a step. As for me, emerging from deep grief at my wife's passing 5 years ago, I am in that liminal state on my way to my next transformation. I am not done yet with living and giving. I am still taking risks, not giving in to fear, so easy to do when old. Your story inspires me, thank you, dear Danusha.
What a spunky piece of hope! Because it is always true, at twenty-something or at 74, one can always decide to take some step - and give more of oneself away...whether it's deciding to feed two starving kittens who are now pleasantly rotund, peeping out of the bushes when they sense I'm coming and no longer run away. Who even shout at me if I'm a bit late. Or whether it's challenging myself to go on submitting poems no matter how many refusals come back...just to do it...thank you Danusha...as always.