I Use Real Butter

I am not the same person I was 10 and 20 and 30 years ago. There are parts of me that have changed, and parts that have stayed the same. I still need to be loved and admired and sought after. I still desire pleasure and thrill and surprise. Laughter and happiness and love are sacred. These are values that defined me in childhood, in adolescence, in my youthful adulthood, and even now as I settle gently into middle age.

Lots of details have changed, though. I used to believe in unicorns. I used to look for fairies in the woods. I once thought my father knew everything. I used to be a passionate vegetarian. I used to think abortion shouldn’t be legal. I once felt I was pacifist. I once worshipped Goddesses. I used to think I needed a Jesus to save me from something. I once wanted to be a rich and famous actor who is loved and admired by millions. I used to think I could touch people through the medium of live theatre. I thought I’d believe all of those things forever.

So many passions and fantasies and desires and truly honest beliefs, discarded as new information becomes available. It’s not as though I feel these beliefs are now “wrong,” I’m just somewhere else now. As new experiences occur, as my life goes on, evidence amasses that changes the nature of my foundational beliefs. And my personality shifts. My body changes. My hair, my voice, my speech patterns, my clothing, my friends.

I love the flow and patterns of life, even when they beat the shit out of me. Even when they fucking suck. This is my life. This is my story. This is me.

Of course, I’m nobody, really. If we’re thinking in terms of geological time and the billions of years that this planet has existed with life constantly evolving on it, and the billions more years that life will continue to change and evolve, my own life is nothing. Inconsequential.

Fortunately for my ego, human brains think locally. We live in the moment, and within the span of a few years we do all of our living and fighting and fucking and dying, making up some crazy drama along the way, just to try to make some sense of it all. We make our lives and the things in our lives important. We create the life we want within the environment that we find ourselves. Because we like it to make sense. That’s comforting.

So my life, as tiny as it is, makes ripples. I interact with the world around me and I change it, and it changes me. I make my contributions in the ways that make me who I am. I create humor. I tell stories. I make fun.

I wonder what I will think and believe and know when I’m 50. And 60, 70, 80, etc. If I get that far. Which I hope I will. I want to be a little old lady with lots of cats and a foul mouth. Ooh, and a cane. Then the neighborhood kids will swap stories about me (“She trains her cats to suck out kids souls!”) and dare each other to throw rocks at the witch’s house. The ones who let their fears get the best of them will never know that the best chocolate chip cookies they’ve ever tasted are cooling on the kitchen counter.