The Crash

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:17

Hey everyone, and welcome back to my curiously queer life. This morning, Duck and I came across the aftermath of a very scary car accident. Not a fender bender, the real kind. And even in the aftermath, the stillness of it, the scattered pieces, the car flipped over, your whole nervous system just stopped. Stood there on the sidewalk, duck pressed against my leg. One of those moments that reminds you that you're not really safe and life can come at you at any direction, at any time. A reminder that the world doesn't ask permission, it just takes. We kept walking after that. And seeing that accident and all the broken pieces brought me back to my week. Because this week it cracked me open and it felt like a wreck. Not like the car accident. Everyone survived by the way. But I got tested twice, back to back, and both times I failed. Not failed like I forgot to be kind. Not the easy stuff. I failed the harder test. The one where you actually believe something about yourself, where you've sat here and I've talked about it and I've preached about it. Maybe even gotten a little proud of it. And then life puts it right in front of you. Bam! And says, okay, show me. And I've been watching someone close to me in my life navigate this real hard conversation. And they were present, warm, laughing at the right moments, holding their ground without ever raising their walls. It was a masterclass in being a human under pressure. I watched it and thought, yes, that is exactly what I want to be. And then I had my chance. Twice, same week, both situations asked the same thing of me. Stay open, stay present. Don't make it about defending yourself. And both times, something old woke up, the part of me that's been protecting me since long before I asked it to. They're coming for you. Your honor is at stake. You are the victim here. Fight. And I fought. I am not going to dress it up. I chose the armor over the openness. And what's harder to sit with, what I keep coming back to, is that I also questioned whether I had some part in setting up these situations. Whether something in me keeps finding these tests because something in me hasn't passed them yet. I don't have the answers to this yet. I am still in it. Still thumbing through the thoughts, the pages in my mind. But what I do know, it's one thing to talk about who you're becoming. It's a whole nother thing entirely to be that person in the room when it costs you something. Later that morning, after the accident, after the walk that helped me breathe again, a woman stopped us on the sidewalk. She wanted to pet Duck. I said, sure. Duck did his thing. And then when the woman stood up, she looked at me and she said, Thank you for sharing your love with me. I have been a human walking this planet for a very, very long time. And nobody has ever said it like that. Not ever. And I just stood there. Because she wasn't talking about the dog, not really. She was talking about what moves through us when we stop guarding it. That's what I couldn't do this week. The gap between who I believe I am and who actually shows up when it counts. That's what I'm sitting with. And this week, I didn't recognize myself. I failed the test. Not once. Twice. And I could sit in that. I could be angry, run it back, build a case, but honestly, I am grateful. I am grateful that I can see it. That I didn't just move on and call it someone else's fault. Or spend the next hour, days, next weeks playing it over in my mind with outcomes that please me. The mistakes don't go away. I don't think they're ever supposed to go away. But the power to recognize them, that gets stronger. And maybe, as time goes on, I'll catch them before they catch me. Hmm. Maybe. Alright, everyone, that is it for this week. As always, fill your tanks with joy, love, and kindness. And when you feel it spilling over the edges, you share it with everyone around you. My name is Thomas St. James, and this is My Curiously Queer Life.