What Would It Be Like?

Last weekend, I watched three talented, beautiful, sexy women of different ages perform an evening of songs in an intimate setting of a friend's living room. Golden voices emanating through the microphones. Women sure of who they are and what they were singing about. I marveled at them in dresses which hugged their different shapes and revealed their flawless legs, unapologetic in their presence, confident. I watched them speak, sing, and gaze out to the audience with an artistry and boldness that made me smile with joy and pride as I sat in the safety of my chair.

In the safety of my chair, I wished I possessed that kind of bravura. What would it be like, I wondered? To wear a tight dress with all my curves and to stand before a group and sing confidently of tortured love? What would it feel like to toss my hair to one side and to know I was talented and attractive and not hide? I sat there and beamed with delight at what these others could muster.

A couple of nights later, I  was watching a TED Talks video of a psychologist speaking about stress. I wasn't sure if I was captivated by what she was saying or by how amazingly put together she was. Probably both. She appeared articulate, intelligent, charming, and  all around beautiful. Her delicate waves of hair naturally framing her face and her makeup subtle and just right. Her voice calm and soothing. Again, I thought, wow, what would that be like? This wasn't the first TED Talks video where I thought to myself, my gosh I am so small in comparison. The women presenting look as though they have it all together, are utterly "successful" and, in my small-minded thinking, must have it all. Their knowledge and sophistication shine; they speak with clarity and assurance; their words come easily and everything appears effortless. Watching, I felt like a bull in a china shop simply sitting in my chair.

That's the honest truth of what goes on in me in some moments. And then...I remember. What it looks like on the outside and what it feels like on the inside don't automatically match up. That is not to say that these women aren't as magnificent as they appear to me, but that they don't necessarily feel that way. How many years did I get on stage and appear strong and confident and look powerful and genuinely at home in my skin? Did it feel like that? Sometimes and sometimes not and no one else knew the difference. It could be that I, too, look like I've got it all together despite what I sometimes feel. Maybe I am really no different from these women who so impress me.

After I do all of that spinning in my head, like a top that finally loses its momentum, I come down to the ground again and my forgetfulness leaves. I close my eyes and breathe. I feel the simplicity of sensation, of my lungs filling and emptying of air. I feel my chest and abdomen riding the wave of each inhale and exhale and I remember that we all do that. We all breathe the same way, on the same earth. We are all making our way with the struggles and gifts of life. We all get old and sick and we all return to the earth in the end. What a relief. From here, I recall what truly matters. I can tap into the genuine joy I felt as the women let the first beautiful sounds fly from their beings that night. I can appreciate the imprint the psychologist made on me and how the gift of her message was captured for us all to learn from. I can admire her courage. 

When I get out of my thoughts and come back into my body, I have the space to step back and see our collective human vulnerability and beauty and feel at home again. I can remember that what matters to me is not how much I know, or how I appear, or whether I can impress. What matters to me is that I connect with living things. That I spend my time waking up and being present to whatever happens in this short time I am here. I will touch people simply by doing that. We all have that capacity. Whether I look and sound the part is unimportant and would actually get in the way if that is what I let lead me. That we exist and are awake is enough. So when I get lost in those moments of comparing and feeling less then, as we all do, I want to do what I began doing that night those three women started singing. I want to bask in being delighted with this life and what we are all capable of. And so, when I find myself saying, "I wonder what it would be like if I...," I can respond by saying, "I already know." I simply need to breathe and let my smile remind me of my purpose and that the place that I think is missing already resides inside.