Hey, you. Did I ever tell you how much I love music, singing and acting but often times not all three together? Which is to say, I pretty much loathe musicals. I guess, in a way, I like my art like a charcuterie board. I like all of these lovely choices butted up against each other where I can pick and choose what to enjoy a little at a time. If you throw it all into one pot like a soup, I’m out, (which is funny because I do like soup). If i’ve thoroughly confused you, congratulations. Now you know how I feel when I watch musicals. Almost nothing ruins a perfect moment like bursting into song and dance….almost. Every, I don’t know, jillion years or so a musical will wow me or blow my mind. You can probably guess what happened when I went to the movies to see Wicked. Yep. I HATED it.
I hated it because I LOVED it. Let me be very clear. I can’t stand the Wizard of Oz. I’m talking heavy-sighs-stick-needles-in-my-eyes-kind of can’t stand. There’s not one single character I give a damn about. Okay, I guess I like To-To but not enough to give a shit about an origin story.
This isn’t a review about Wicked though. This is about how I felt watching a character, who was written and portrayed in such a way that made me instantly relate to her from the moment she was surrounded by people putting her differences on blast. Then Cynthia Erivo had the nerve to start singing and I was like, “Well, I’m officially fucked.” My sweet daughter was sitting next to me giggling, also shocked at her own enjoyment of the film, whilst I was busy skipping down the trauma brick road. Remembering what it was like to be made to feel inadequate though you knew you weren’t. Second guessing your worth. Having tremendous empathy for other people who are marginalized and doing everything in your power to help them. Trying to keep your head down so you don’t stand out. Being used. Being laughed at. Being underestimated until one day you decide that you’re not going to hide or be denied any longer.
Half-way through the final song of the movie, the past few weeks flashed before my eyes like a person at the end of their life. I recalled the Patience card I pulled from my “Wisdom of Hafiz” oracle deck. The card read, “It will happen. Perhaps not exactly as you imagined it. Perhaps far better. But it will happen….” I recalled the deck itself. How in a sea of oracle card boxes I just made out the tip of a bird’s beak and knew it was the deck for me. How when the box was handed to me, the bird on the cover was a hummingbird (a nod from Roger no doubt, for those of you who read or listened to blog post 5). How the artwork reminded me of Klimt. The fact that Klimt’s “The Kiss” is my favorite painting. I thought about the book I was currently reading, “The Misadventures of an Awkward Black Girl,” by Issa Rae. My husband picked it out for me because he knew I liked her and heard the book was good, not knowing it would become a love song to me. Again, this theme of an awkward creature fumbling through life only to blossom into a powerhouse. Then there was the poem. The poem I ran across by *Chela Davison that I’ve been holding in my throat so I could read it to you:
What if it isn’t a problem?
that it’s taking the time it’s taking
that things haven’t come together the way you hoped
that you haven’t shown up the way you wanted
that you thought you’d have more capacity to meet
what you’ve been dreaming into reality
What if it isn’t a problem?
the desperation you feel around money
the fear and scarcity
the never-quite-on-top-of-it-ness
the at-the-line-ness
the what-if-ness
What if it isn’t a problem?
that you don’t feel as secure as you want
as wealthy as it seems like you should be by now
What if your shame isn’t a problem?
the hiding and braving and rising
to wrestle it back under wraps
what if your rage and sadness aren’t problems either
what if that bottomless grief
about your love that’s gone
about the time lost
about potential unmet
aren’t problems at all
What if your body isn’t a problem to be solved?
what if it isn’t a problem
that your joints are burning
and skin is flaring
and the scale won’t budge
what if the lines and the puckers
the pain and the sag and the bulge
those spots and crepes and creases and rolls
aren’t problems
What if that mistake isn’t a problem?
or that failure
that moment of embarrassment
that wakes you up with woulda-coulda-conversations
swirling in your head
what if the worry and fretting
the procrastination and resistance
the checking out and numbing
aren’t problems at all
What if that relationship isn’t a problem?
the way they are
the way they miss what you need
and pull at your frayed edges
the way the reactivity mounts between you
circling, unsettled, unresolved, unmet
what if the dynamics that rattle your heart
and drain your aliveness
aren’t problems
What if that pattern you’re running, again, isn’t a problem?
the fear that things might be unravelling
the progress you thought you’d made
moot
what if the disappointment you feel
in yourself
hope fading, cynicism rising
what if those aren’t problems?
What if
the relentless, habitual way
you unconsciously scan your life
and interpret it to be a problem
isn’t a problem at all
What if
your humanity
your problem-making
your problem-solving
your cycles of suffering
and seeking
what if they’re not problems
What if they’re holy?
By the time the song ended, I had a clear picture of what the Universe was laying out for me. It was fitting that I designed December to be a month of rest as I am thinking the vibes of 2025 will be anything but. I believe it will be more than just leveling up. It will be me stepping into a power I have yet to release and I am very clear that it’s not for you to see but for me.
Once the movie ended, so to ended a version of me that I couldn’t take into the new year if I wanted to, and I don’t. I felt my young self say to me, ‘Dear one, the Universe has given us everything we need to be untethered: From the shade of our skin, to the baldness of our head and to our very name. Our parents didn’t choose it because it means “Messenger.” They chose it because it’s synonymous with having wings.
So, my friend, “..I’m through accepting limits, cause someone says they’re so. Some things I cannot change but ‘till I try, I’ll never know….if you care to find me, look to the western sky. As someone told me lately, everyone deserves the chance to fly.”
*Thank you sweet, Chela for letting me share your beautiful words. Follow her here or on Instagram @cheladavison