by Vic Tedrow
lessons from my youth
You know that young and dumb thing you’re supposed to be at 19? I think I’m doing a pretty good job at embodying it—not in a self-destructive way, but in pure discovery. Through spontaneity, the unknown becomes a part of my daily enthusiasm. I live with passion. My being is free. Undeniably captivating, the mountains after dark possess an infectious power. In the valley, time floats always, industrialization sinks with the horizon, and the thinking-mind erases. I am nothing but my heart. I howl, I cry, I dance, I sing, I run naked, I scream! I sigh audibly in gratitude. My life is an outcome of the energy I put into myself. I can’t help but feel in every inch of my body blessed. Coming out of a state of deep hurt and pain, I thought my current joy would be foreign yet, I am more at home than I have ever been. I am the light and the shadows, the infinite source manifesting through any and all platforms I choose. Our stages of this life are constantly changing and shifting into a space of complete synchronicity.
Returning to a childlike state, I am blissful. The process of healing has empowered me to shed false and reoccurring narratives, unearthing the eternal love residing within. I strip away the limitations, the layers, the labels and reach liberation. Step outside of certainty and hibernation. Remove filtration and calculation. Express the sensitivity gifted to humanity.
Find compassionate space for yourself to cry, watering the sunflowers aching to sprout.
Tears are rainwater for the breathing flowers inside.
I am no longer guilty for taking up SPACE. I am meant to be heard, seen, accepted, embraced.
I finally give myself permission to weep…to release.
Conditioned to refrain from what I needed so deeply
Here and now, Truth is everything I choose to embody
How revolutionary is honesty?
I am learning to love solitude again, to crave time with me, myself, and I. In springtime, nature settles the uneasiness that bubbles up here and there. Whenever it’s warm enough to expose my hairy legs, I get a burst of divinity.
What used to feel like a radical notion is now a mere default.
As a female-presenting body, my hairy legs tend to offend—for what reason I do not know.
As if I were a passing male or presented more stereotypically masculine, my hairy legs, my hairy armpits, my hairy body would be a confirmation for comfort.
Why do I feel the need to ask your permission for existing?
My being is not absurd. Gender IS expansive and explorative. My sex does not account or discount the experience of womanhood. Though, I really do not identify with the term woman or girl or anything of the sort. Sure, femininity can be fun and sometimes I want to twirl around in a field like a fairy. But I don’t think fairies have genders and I just want to be a flowery fairy. A sentient being, as I am.
I am fucking scared to say this, to type this. To speak truthfully about who I am and how I feel because there are people out there who will wholeheartedly deny my identity, to deny my personhood, and actively work to deny my rights.
But I am no longer afraid of freedom. I think somehow, somewhere along the way, I was impressionable and taught to color within the lines.
I find art in the abstract. Liberated by unapologetic self-love, empowered by radical care.
THESE are a threat to those in power. I am a threat to a well-thought out system, so therefore I must not be accepted.
Reclaiming the term Queer —in all senses of the word—gender and sexuality, has been helpful for me. Some refer to it as an umbrella. I feel safe underneath it, that it’s protecting me from any storm that may come my way.
And I feel showered underneath the deep love I actively cultivate and curate. I have shaken and disturbed the stagnancy desired by those around me. Why is it so crazy to let people be themselves? Why am I a revolution?