Holly Would and Will
I have been burdened with the blessing of too many passions. Growing up, I spent hours pacing my backyard, lost in a daydream of my ethereal and illusive “future.” With nothing but time ahead of me, I was safe to dream about being anything. All paths lay open before me and I did not need to commit to goals or five year plans. I could just dream. On these many walks, I became television actors and the president and owned coffee shops in the middle of nowhere mountain towns. I proudly told everyone who asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up that I would balance the remarkable schedule of Supreme Court judge by day and Broadway Starlet by night. I could be anything I wanted to be, so therefore I chose to believe that one day I would be it all.
As I approach 30, I fight against facing the realization that I have greatly disappointed Little Holly. I have fallen victim to the perceived norms and definitions of “success” and “achievement” and have dedicated nearly the past decade to putting all my shiny and hopeful eggs into one small, constricting basket. I fell for the lie that the “grown-up” thing to do in life was choose your path, ignoring that I naturally branched into several luscious and delightfully twisting roads. And readers, I have not been happy. In fact, every day is a grieving process for the lives I could have lived. Every night, I muddle over the choices that lead me to this version of events, and quietly ponder if those roads not taken are still there. Overgrown and difficult to navigate after all this time, sure. But, possible to follow with some love and nurturing? I have always hoped so.
As I approach 30, a switch has turned on in my gut. Maybe its the Kombucha and chia seed pudding (Wow, when did you’re late 20s become so gut health conscious), but I can see now that this narrowed view of work and life and accomplishment has resulted in a stunted Me. I am only a small fraction of my enormity. And so, I now am going back to the start. I rewind to the fork in my road where all my paths diverge. (Now that I am 28 and not 18, I understand you, Mr. Robert Frost.) I take note from Little Holly’s playbook and dedcide to tend to the weeds and debris that have blocked my infinite futures. I bulldoze the brick walls I built to neatly separate the different lives I could lead. I merge them all. Writer and Actor and Barista and Therapist and Teacher and Student. Cat mom and friend and partner and daughter. They merge and grow into each other. The water each other’s soil to make such a vibrant mess.
This mess is the spark behind Holly Would. Because, gosh darn-it, since I can, you best believe that I will.
