This is a personal essay and life reflection from March 2018 as I completed what many would call a long dark night of the soul and preparation for a full shadow release.

Dedicated to my former partner — a beacon of light, a mentor for humankind, and a man who joined me in a profound marriage that taught us the power of true love to seek truth, to be present, and to accept transformation.

_____

Tick, tock. Decide.

Shut up.

You’re losing time. Tick —

I don’t believe in time. It’s an illusion.

It’s all an illusion.

Leave me alone.

Let me out.

Please stop.

Fearless. That’s what family and peers would say to me growing up. “You’re fearless.” I’d shrug. I had fear. Plenty of it. But I was so consumed by curiosity that I couldn’t be bothered by something as boring as fear. When I saw a frontier, real or imagined, person or thing, I sprinted toward it. I had to know … I had to dive across it and peel and poke and pry and play until I felt I knew it… or until it knew me.

Tick, tock.

Magic. I was obsessed with magic. When I was a child, I devoured all magical stories and spent most days indulging in my own imagined reality. I would stand up the gymnastics mat in my basement to make it into a bottle and pretend to be the genie from I Dream of Jeannie. All of fourth grade, I was convinced that I could morph into a cat so I would gently lick at the water fountain when the hallways were empty (I kid you not). I would write children’s books about animals uniting forces with superpowers or growing up with the wolves like Mowgli. I read about wrinkles in time, vampires and wild beasts. I was even a novice witch as a teenager, collecting candles and spellbooks to summon my crush’s attention.

For some, magic is a topic reserved solely for the child’s world. Entertainment at best, false expectations at worst. Unnecessary and unreal. But for me, magic was the only thing that was real. It had nothing to do with talking animals, broomsticks, fairies or manifesting instant gratification. The magic was far beneath the details of whimsical fairy tales: it was the dance with the unknown, the inexplicable, the quest.

Magic spoke when it tingled the back of my neck the first time I saw the Rome skyline. Modern day glass creations standing in the same breath as ancient ruins, undeniable and concrete; time existing inside of time. It whispered to me when I worked as a tip girl at a beach bar in Venice for a Doors cover band and the half time musician walked in, like a gentler Kurt Cobain. He glanced at me, and no matter how hard I tried to calm myself, the curl of a smile could not be controlled. We spoke philosophy and art and history to the sound of the Pacific crashing under smog-covered stars until early morning. He proved to me that some men do care about a woman’s pleasure. Fast and fleeting, but the briefest encounters can shift our forever. It even sang in the darkness. When I was drunk on both life and wine exploring the glitz and glamour of Hollywood insecurities and desperation, and even with my senses numbed, it brought me a sister soulmate that would stay a lifetime and teachers that would lead me to the greatest unknown, the unknown within. Magic shouted all throughout my body when I met true love and for the first time felt my goals, my priorities, my reality, my self, collapse to the ground like armor I didn’t know I was wearing. When I held his hand, I understood the meaning of home.

From the minute I left what I felt was a suburban prison of blasé, life became truly magical, as simple as black and white to color. I was eighteen and free. Free to fly where and however I wanted — young, unattached, idealistic, privileged, determined, a blissfully naive, doe-eyed babe with aspirations to become, yes, of course, an actress. From coast to coast, continent to continent, from acting to psychology, hello to bonjour, from the arts to business, from new faces to cherished relationships, from a path alone to the beginning of community. So many frontiers… And with each frontier, a new piece of me blossomed… like magic — I became an addict for novelty. An addict for growth. An addict for magic. Magic was my God.

And then it started to fade. Very slowly. Why? I wish I knew. Was it…

Time?

Like a pen clicking in the seat behind me as I drove… I heard it before I felt it.

I didn’t have time for magic anymore. I loved someone, and we were getting older. It was time to build. Time to stay. Time for a new God, the God of the known.

“You’ll be happier in the long run,” they say. They must be right. They.

We nod, and we start making investments. Investments in each other, in things, in a future. Investments in careers, retirement, in the children we have yet to have. I thought, I’m still a pioneer in what I’m building. I’m building… a dream life. And that dream will one day have magic again, right? It has to… one day. But right now, I need to sacrifice. Long hours. Constant planning. Lots of “positivity” to get through another day that looks the same and acts the same and is, essentially, the exact same as yesterday.

Tick. Tock.

We’ve lost a few times, my husband and I. It hurt a lot. Losing hurts, and starting over… well it used to feel like magic, but it doesn’t anymore. I don’t know why. I feel like I’ve had to start over a hundred times, and I’m only thirty. “Welcome to life, girl. It’s all about attitude. This is what real life looks like.” Real life. That’s what they keep telling me. They.

I’m totally fine. Just smile. Laugh, even if you don’t feel like laughing. My principles, my desires, my passions and expectations hash it out for hours behind my eyeballs as I try to focus on email exchanges. It’s exhausting.

I massage my wrists. No chains. You’re here on your own accord… The actress hasn’t lost her flair for drama! “They” are fine. You should be fine, too.

TICK. TOCK.

I said, shut the f* up!

Sure, I’m frustrated. If you work hard, you’ll get “there.” Where, you ask? To the top, of course. The closer you are to the top, the better, right? The two Rs: Rich and Recognized. Everyone should want to get “there,” and anyone can get “there.” This is how we grew up. The new fucking American Dream. It’s everywhere. Every feed, every billboard, every conversation. I’m not bitter, I’m livid. I don’t like trying to get “there.” I want to be “here.” But you put this shit in my head and now, even when I know better, I can’t get it out. I feel like I’m drowning in pool of water I didn’t choose. Everywhere I go. Big. Bigger. More. More. You can have it all. Do it all. Be it all. The only thing that’s getting in the way is you. Don’t give up. Be confident. Be humble. Hustle. Be still. Make goals. Be present. Don’t settle. Be kind and compassionate, but only the ruthless survive. You deserve what you get. Win or be miserable. This is a meritocracy where the cream of the crop rises. So, you just must not be…

F* me. When did I go from fearless to fighting off paralysis on the daily? Why did this happen? Resilience and stamina — I had them when I was younger, where the hell did they go? She was a stupid, little girl. She didn’t understand reality. She was selfish, a naive, doe-eyed lost… She didn’t play by the rules… She was…

Shhhh… At least you have him. He’s a gem. True love. Love is what matters. Love is everything. I’ll just hide in him. Wait — that doesn’t seem right. And marriage is… But lately — no, it’s fine. Smile. Laugh. I just miss… Never mind. Keep it together. Be grateful. I am. I am. I just — what? Nothing. I’ll control myself.

Smile. Laugh. Repeat. Email exchanges.

I’m so tired. Smile. Laugh. I’m too young to be this tired.

Discipline. Keep it together, and you will achieve… achieve… I don’t want to achieve!

Let me out!

Lately, I feel something writhing deep inside of me.

It’s not the first time, but it was dormant for a while, and now it’s back with a vengeance. It screams me awake in the night. It’s… a woman who rattles a cage. She’s angry. She’s restless. She’s wild, and she refuses to be caged any longer. I can’t bear the screaming at night and the incessant, hypocritical whispers during the day. I want to know who she is, and what she wants. But I don’t know if I can trust her, right? Whose side is she on?

Tick, tock… Decide.

Decide what?

And yet… somehow I know. I know what she’ll do. I know it my bones.

She’s going to burn it all down.

She’ll be the end of me.

The end of this version of me.

It’s time. I know.

It’s time.