human – CLAIRE MARGIT

One of my best friends texted me this morning lamenting the lack of hormones that feeds her PMS symptoms. It’s a thread we circle back to monthly because we’re both big, enthusiastic bitches who feel the dip in more dramatic ways than our personal and professional lives would prefer. I asked her about the type of tears she felt falling this morning, and she responded:

I Don’t Wanna Tears (IDWT henceforth).

She is a badass single mother who’s had a helluva year, a helluva handful of years actually. That’s the least interesting thing about her though. She is courageous, meaning, she engages her heart even when it feels very scary to notice the things it whispers to her. She is bright, meaning, she allows the warmth of knowledge, wisdom, etc. to land on her fair skin and sparkle back onto the rest of us. She is strong and sturdy in every way, so people tend to lean a little longer and with a little more dependence—the curse of broad shoulders.

She’s tired, and she doesn’t wanna.

I see you nodding your head in agreement. You, too?

In between texting her and scrubbing my filthy kitchen floor, it occurred to me…

Are there any other type of tears to cry? Aren’t all tears just the juice of some version of I Don’t Wanna fruit getting pulverized in our souls?

I don’t wanna feel this nerve pain shooting down my left leg.

I don’t wanna say goodbye. I don’t know how to do this without you.

I don’t wanna get out of bed. I can’t do it.

I don’t wanna ever leave this moment. Thank You.

I don’t wanna forget this. Can you believe we’re this lucky?

I don’t wanna watch another school shooting unfold. My homeland feels messy.

I don’t wanna go back there. I can’t go back there.

I don’t wanna because I don’t know how. It would look clunky.

I don’t wanna because I’m not ready yet.

Tears are the most courageous things I’ve ever seen a body do. The first time I had cancer I think I cried less than five times about the actual cancer. I was nineteen and cried way more over the douchebag I had to leave behind in Chicago.

The chemical compound of tears is unique, and scientists believe we evolved to ensure that the right droplet size combines with the correct amount of proteins; thus, attracting the attention of another human.

Look over here, please. No! Nevermind, don’t! Actually, yes, please do. I have feeling juice falling out of my eyes. I don’t know exactly what I need, yet. I’ll let you know when I do? Or maybe you can help me figure it out? Or maybe you already know what I need?

Tears are what surrender looks like on the outside. Tears are proof that something has shifted, is shifting. Surrender implies a lack of control, I’m not in charge here, right now—for good or for hard.

Human psyches and nervous systems feel unsettled in the presence of “I don’t have control.”

That nerve pain I mentioned earlier? That was personal. I don’t wanna feel this. It’s been keeping me up at night, it’s expensive to address, and the pain makes me cranky. I know why it’s there, I understand the circumstances that established the patterns that created the problem, physically and emotionally. I know why it’s flared. I know what it’s asking for, and who it’s asking for.

I know the neurons believe something about themselves that isn’t true anymore. There was a time when I believed I needed XYZ to feel complete. My brain understands that this current Claire doesn’t require what Claire eight months ago required. I’m evolving, grieving, re-writing. And I’m begging my body to get on board.

It doesn’t wanna…

It doesn’t wanna go another day without the XYZ…

This is an inflection point. Surrender and defeat are two sides of the same coin. Or are they sisters? Or maybe if I squint hard enough I don’t have to see the Truth zapping from the nerve root to the bottom of my left foot:

I can’t control this. I can’t control him, or her. I can’t control them. I feel tired, and a dozen other things I can’t quite identify, yet.

So we cry. We surrender to the facts while holding bilateral middle fingers out into the unknown. Or at least that’s what I do.

We breathe to get back here, to this moment. It’s all we have. We text a friend. We take a walk under tree canopy or barefoot on beaches. We remember what Carrie said and we make art (make anything) with our human heart. We remember days when the tears were shed in wonder and joy instead of whatever the hell this is.

Do you remember when…exhale…and then…more tears. Except they’ve changed. They don’t sting, now they’re tears of gratitude. How lucky we were to be there at that exact moment.

How lucky we are, to be here, in this exact, awful moment. This exact, awe-full moment. Middle fingers up.

Middle fingers down.

On our knees.

Human.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Professionally Human.

I love you.

I am here with you.

I see the proteins falling from you, I see that they signal something shifting from within. I think you are so courageous for allowing them to be witnessed. I think you are so courageous for allowing yourself to feel in this place. Been a helluva year…

Want to watch the sunset?

-You hate pretending.

–You want to know that everything is going to be okay. You want peace and joy inscribed onto your heart, you just haven’t found the right kind of tools to keep them there.

-Your life feels 8/10, but you have a hunch there’s more waiting to be explored.

-You know there’s something else meant for you, it’s just too hard to get there alone.

-You care deeply about becoming more whole, knowing that the world is a better place with the truest, clearest version of you operating in it.

-Nature and beauty heal you.

-You love your life in general, and you still feel the desire to check out of it sometimes.

-You love your community and your people deeply, and you crave quiet isolation, too.

-You believe in the benefit and necessity of emotional and physical sobriety. You practice and incorporate seasonal use of certain chemicals (THC, Psilocybin, etc.) to engage life differently. You use them holistically because they help you feel closer to God and Self. You understand that mindless use of these chemicals is harmful in the end.

–You feel better when you’re creating something. You know your heart, mind, and hands get restless when you aren’t engaging in meaningful, creative work.

-(You may also cry and/or swear more frequently than others.)

-Your body keeps a very accurate score.

-You are curious and try to stay open to the mystery, while collecting data constantly—a spiritual scientist. You test the limits constantly, create experiments for the soul, integrate the data quickly.

-You are okay in the outskirts. The wilderness has become home, your campfire keeps you warm.

–You are not afraid of hard work if it gets you to the places you need to be. You are devoted to Love, Justice, Peace, etc.

-You love to be felt, seen, known. And you love to feel, see, and know.

Professional – noun – One who professes, declares.
Human – noun – Of the earth, mud.

You’ve made peace with your your origin story. You know that you are a small and significant part of this grand experiment, this goodhardgood existence. You’re done trying to figure it out, you’re ready to embrace the mystery, you’re curious about your place in all of it. You know you’re dying–we all are–and so it’s time.

Time to take the next loving steps, exploring the wilderness and edges of your soul.
Time to get really courageous and really curious about the beliefs and fears that paint your reality.
Time to reflect on your relationships.
Time to engage your body, your cells, and their stories.
Time to dance, to play, to weep, to nourish, to rage, and to pause. On repeat.

There’s no way to make the world “right.” No politcal party, ideology, or prayer will un-muddy these waters. But you can make you right. No, not right as in “correct.” Think: true. Clear.

Foundational wisdoms have helped humanity since the beginning, wisdoms gifted and hard-earned. We get to bring these to the table.

Look, here’s what I found. Here’s what I discovered out there in that hellscape. It really helped me. If you want to take a look I’m happy to share it with you. Did your journey reveal anything? May I see? Can you tell me what God told you?

On my journey so far, I’ve discovered a few of these foundational wisdoms. Some were gruesome to unearth, I still have the scars. Others just appeared, or were placed on the side of the road–such gifts. I would like to spend the rest of my life professing them, for they prove my humanity. They prove that I’ve lived, really lived.

I enjoy inspiring and empowering others to live, too. So, that’s what I’ll do. I’m Claire, I’m a professional human.

I declare that I am mud and miracle, walking around on sidewalks.
I declare that I am tired and I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time.
I declare that my choices and my life are my own. I will use the data I collect from those choices to fuel my growth instead of feed my shame.
I declare that I am grateful, awestruck, and in love with nearly everything and everyone.

Tag: human

I Don’t Wanna