Through The Looking Glass: Deconstructing Alice

"Deconstruction doesn't actually mean "demolition;" instead it means "breaking down" or analyzing something (especially the words in a work of fiction or nonfiction) to discover its true significance, which is supposedly almost never exactly what the author intended." (merriam-webster.com)

It's 5 a.m. on pretty much any morning these days. My place is quiet, except for the occasional bump of the heater as it kicks out warm air, reminding me how fortunate I am to have a roof over my head. My trusty chihuahua, Gracie, is perfectly curled by my side, the only thing in my life that I feel really solid about these days. I am not what I intended.

Like millions of other women my age, I am in uncharted waters as I shed a skin that no longer fits. At 51, the things I once found joy in or occupied my time seem like a distant memory, almost belonging to someone else. All the years of busy motherhood... school projects, theater lessons, performances, cookie sales are gone. The competitive, professional drive I once had has been tempered by a healthy need for balance and a yearning for quiet endeavors like learning to crochet and practicing yoga. (For anyone who has ever seen me try to crochet, this should be particularly alarming). On a personal level, I wonder if I'm destined to travel this road solo, without a co-pilot.

None of this is devastating; in fact, for the most part it's exciting. But travelling uncharted waters takes trust and patience. Despite being busy, I find myself wandering around a lot, trying to decide what to do next, often feeling overwhelmed by how many choices I have. In finding my next chapter, I immerse myself in side jobs that bring me joy: copywriting, mainly. The creative work is fulfilling, and helps me remember I am good with words. And with each project that bring me joy, I know I am slowly discovering myself: what I stand for, who I like to spend time with, and just how much bullshit I'll take.

This road of skin-shedding and self-discovery and finding new chapters isn't without bumps. Because in my moments of discontent about where I am and what's next, I can be a downright pain in the ass to those I hold most dear. To those who feel the sharp edges of my journey, I say thank you for your patience, and I'm sorry.

As I write this, the sun has come out, giving California's landscape a break from mother nature's wrath. I am grateful. I breathe in the here and now, and open my heart to whatever is meant to come my way. And amidst it all, I vow to be kind to myself and others in the process.

Thanks for reading...

Alice