Love Letter On Growth

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I’m a month away from another year on earth. Another birthday. Maybe since I turned 30, this is the strangest one yet. The most weighty. There are stupid expectations I hear in my head. Expectations that are insecurities really. What sometimes belongs to another person entirely—I thought I’d have more money. A prettier and more grown-woman home with a welcome mat, a yellow door and some sort of green plant life waiting to smack guests with a heavens-are-parting cupcake and casual hello. I also thought I’d be alone and nomadic. What the fc kind of sense does that make?

Funny thing is, I thought I was through with all this material bullshit. The angst of insecurity. I’m not. I also thought what I most care about is deep life fulfilment—But. Really, Beesh who you foolin? Not with that fashion habit you got. And certainly not with that house lust you harbouring; lust that will turn a regular Sunday into a vision board hunt for the perfect bathroom with flowered wallpaper and gold taps and caps Donatella Versace might turn to and smack her lips before declaring, Damn gurl, now that’s overdone.

Growth means something complicated to me at 37. I’m the wisest I’ve ever been, the strongest in the truth of who I am today, who I want to be when I grow up. I’m also the most honest about what feels raw and tender and unyielding. I’m making sense of new hungers that come with ripened age. That hearth-hunger is real. A quest to burrow down and plant roots. To make room. To think about the lives that will come after us and how our having been on this earth will shape their being and inheritance.

Personally and professionally, I’m living through a pregnant time. The strange territory where family is no longer the set of humans you were born into like a lego building block, but also a set of traditions, values and people you consciously choose. A grown woman kindda growth.

Growth also looks like living into my purpose. As an artist who’s been sent here with precious gifts. Honoring those gifts—thinking hard about how to nurture, grow and share them—how I’ll know I’m succeeding when they do in fact take root and start to bear fruit, is what’s most on my mind.

Life is growth. Everything alive grows. But not everything that grows is welcome. So how do you prune back what feels untrue and give sustenance to the growth that most feeds you?