Letter 27: To Me

27 February 2012

Dear Me

Well this one – the letter to Me, feels in so many ways like the hardest letter to write …

Where to start ..? How about before the beginning … I’ve got a real sense that I wanted to come into this life … that I chose to be born, that I jumped up into the universal ether and said ‘me, me, me please!’ And yet how many times in my life did I wish that I had never been born … Yes … so much emotional pain, so many tears; and then again how much love and laughter has there been ..?

What can I tell myself here? That it is all perfect, that it is bonkers, that it is beautiful to be me …

And I wonder how I reached where I am and then I look back at the tide marks in my life. And always it comes back to this – one hot summer day, a 6 year old me ran across the road to get an ice cream from the ‘ne nah’ van, and the man in the van misheard me and gave me a lolly instead. And when I ran back, crossing the road, I was knocked down by a car and never got to eat my treat.  Now all things considered it wasn’t so serious and soon I walked and ate ice cream again; but I still bear scars from that day to this day, and part of me has often wondered if I have EVER got over the habit of looking the wrong way and getting crushed as a result …

And on the path to adulthood there have been bullyings and beatings and there have been swings and roundabouts. And I remember sunshine and laughter too, I remember family and friends and seaside happiness. I remember pets, dresses, love and arguments all mixed in to the melee of my memory. The path to me, always being me, always now. Yet so often wanting tomorrow, wanting the day to be different, the place to be different, to be with different people; yes, hankering constantly to be away from me, today …

So Dear Me, what defines me now? My nature, my nurture, my memories, my life’s search, my research – to me? They all play their part. I was born with blue eyes – nurture and life’s literal happenings have never changed that. I am naturally influenced by the people I grew up alongside, walking this path through our lives, sometimes in slow motion and sometimes in quick step. My memory fluctuates – much of my childhood has disappeared into a vacuum … I try to remember land mark birthdays … strangely gone, void … yet still – here I am.  And always there were choices, whether I knew that at the time or not … And I chose and then I chose again and so I chose to be me.

So how would you describe, label or define Sandra Peachey?: daughter, sister, friend, cousin, aunt, niece, Miss, Ms, colleague, boss, teacher, coach, goddess, sex kitten, author, dancer, actor, artist, singer, girl friend, mother (to be), wife (to be), Human Resources Manager, shop assistant, cleaner, cat lover, siren, muse, house wife, gourmet, chef, joker, lover, Leader, Queen of Support, Circe, Cassie, Sandy, Sandie, San, dog breath, Peaches, bitch, angel, saviour, role model, nemesis, babe, babes, bab … the list could quite possibly be endless. What a fabulous, never ending lexicon of my life, of me … And where will the list go on to?

And these labels are opinions, are subjectivities, are passing thoughts … Who am I really??  I am love, I am creativity, I am giver and nurturer, I am laughter, I am the gravitational pull that guides people into their own true orbit, into their own beauty and light.  You may or may not really see me or hear me, yet that doesn’t matter.  I will be visible where I need to be.  But if you DO see me, then you will FEEL me too.

There have been ups and downs, there have been past regrets. Yet no ‘now’ regrets, for all that has happened has led to me now, and where else could I be? Who else could I be? I chose constantly, I live free, I create, I prescribe, I revive. I was born blonde and I stayed blonde; accident prone and lovable; clever and loquacious; attractive and sensitive: me, me, all me.

Now as a love letter, where does the love come in to all this, Dear Me? Well as it happens, I was definitely born to love: to give love, to receive it, to spread it, to write about it, to be it. And the hardest thing, so often, is to love myself. Yet love myself I do: I must, for from that springs the rest – of that comes the best, of me.  And my letters are not just love, they are catharsis and celebration too and so I dare praise myself, just as so often, I have chided myself – yet now is always the time to rejoice!

And my letters are gratitude – so I give immense thanks for those who are in this theatre of my life – in the audience and on the stage.  I have toddled, walked, crawled, danced and ran through my life with a whole cast of characters: some have stayed, many have gone; and the Acts have moved on and the scenery has changed, and who knows where the plot will end. I feel there MUST be rapturous applause at the curtain call, for after all – being me deserves that – doesn’t it?

So Dear Me – I applaud you / me! Here’s your standing ovation – your love letter, your magnum opus. My love in a letter, my life in a letter – Dear Me, that IS me … for now … There’ll be more …

For ever yours,

   Sandra xx

PS: The ‘Letter to Me’ and all my letters have now been published – follow the link here to find out more…

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