Word of the year, more like. My father recently told me I was refined, and I felt like a wild success for a moment. But then I actually laughed at that word, because I am still trying so hard to pull it together. If it means a fresh haircut and the broadest vocabulary, refined I am not.
I do know what my dad really meant. Or what I hope he means--
I have carefully constructed my adult life as a place where I could feel comfortable and secure. Safe, you know? But I've recently decided I don't want some of the things I've build up around me, and inside of me. I'm cutting all the unecessaries and all the unpriorities out. It sounds violent because it it. It's a part of the I-want-to-be-real-or-be-nothing self campaign I'm designing right now. This cutting is creating more space, space I didn't necessarily want, but space I'll be happy to have when I choose what to fill it with.
What I'm saying is--I'm refining over here. Pardon my dust.
photo from this MOA exhibit