Bunny’s Back!
“It no longer serves me to keep my dreams to myself” (c) me to myself, in my journal in 2022.
I wrote that not knowing where God would take me or how my dreams would evolve. I wrote that thinking about something else; not that it could possibly be my inner voice screaming at me, with no intentions of shutting up.
A few weeks back I got a text from my mother which said "she liked the name "Where is the World is Alex" for my new blog. As much as that is constructive creative advice, I read the text in momma-shade voice, like she was suggesting I wasn’t giving up enough details of my whereabouts. Her message's intention was to gas me up; she's was giving me GOLD here - it was my own creative wrestling and back-and-forth-torture-pondering that would have me believe I was "kinda getting in trouble with my momma". It was my imaginary timeline that I assigned myself to with Minority Report failure - like I'd go to jail for something I hadn't done yet, and even better - for a thing that didn’t exist . I read her encouraging flag-waving like I was somehow behind in race. But Silly, the gun was in my hand.
The realest truth I've heard this year is that "when you're writing your new story, don't spend too much time telling the old one", and that's the only way I've been able to really set myself free. The fallout of my 30's I thought would require some explanation on whatthehell you think you're talking about, and whythehell you think you're so great. Another made up story, by me.
Turns out, the only thing I owe are God’s gifts to me, back to world. Lucky for the world, I'm now able to receive them fully, without the agony of wondering why and what for. I give them back as my thank you for being alive. And that's honestly enough - and that's a huge gift!
Truth is I'll never get the important words out if I let the toxic stew of old stories continue to stew - and then try to explain why it's bubbling like that. I'll let the reader read along the way. But if we know anything about “boiling-pots-of-anything”, that IS, however, how you get the flavor - and these pots have been doing nothing but cooking and boiling and boiling and cooking.
The natural progression of how we landed here, on this particular internet-sliver of space-and-time, is fitting (and hilarious). I used to get paid to write in a brand voice for the internet, and luckily for the brand, my voice was aligned with theirs. It was liberating to “tell it like it is” even if that IS, was my sole opinion (approved by my boss). In my personal life, it was the exact same. On the day Amy Winehouse died, my friend rescued me from my tear-soaked bed to get an emergency tattoo. However, my only solace was spent that night crying into a blog about my feeeelings. And if you’re this-many-old; I much preferred Xanga to Myspace. My poems and (shady!) posts were all of the customizations I needed. So I’m not not new to this.
But, I've had to crawl back into my voice - smash the Ursula seashell and let the light fly back into my chest. So many new songs to sing, and I swear I have the pipes! This blog is fun and for you, the reader, but it is important to note that for 951 days...I've been going through something.. (shoutout to Kendrick Lamar) - and I’m happy to report, and grateful to share that ya girl is BACK.
Nah, ya girl is on the OTHER SIDE -carried by God.
"Okay, now you try" my holy spirit smiles, handing me a LIVE MICROPHONE to get this heat off my chest. "ONLY BARS."
"But it's been so long since I've rapped; since I could really spit."
"but Bunny, you still know how to rhyme.."
Mic check one, two..