My knee is throbbing a little bit this morning, and that’s a good thing. It’s better than a torn vagina, and probably less painful. Still, it’s a battle scar from my most recent adventure chasing the dragon.
The dragon is not something illicit, but it is intoxicating: it’s the knowledge that you can conquer something huge, intimidating, primal, and powerful through one decisive action. Like childbirth, for example. A personal challenge that you have no choice but to go into head-on, knowing nothing other than the fact that you will be a very different person on the other side.
Every since I pushed the first puppy out, I’ve been exhausted, overwhelmed, and in a constant state of flux. The old “ages and phases” maxim holds true: as soon as I think I have my footing, there’s another incline, another push in a new direction, a sensation of starting over. Does is surprise anyone, then, that for the last couple of years my BBFs and I have been road-tripping to chase the dragon with a goal set so impossibly high there’s nothing else we can do besides put one foot in front of the other, just as our foremothers did, as we conquer Mother Earth’s impressive challenges?