Honesty Pants

There are only so many jokes you can make about
the ambiguity of your
still-unemployed,
still-living-with-my-parents-jobless-post-grad-life.
But thank God for Tim Tebow and his
spiritual gift of chiseled singleness
because his name has taken more hits
for you than the aged arm of a drug addict –
And thank God hypothetical matrimony to such a
beautiful athlete is a two-fold weapon:
a crowd favorite and a
witty shield that deters any lingering
socially polite questions – because no one has taken
time to ask what growing up really feels like. Because
this is what growing up actually feels like. Growing up feels like
face-planting on every inch of bunny slope God ever made and growing up feels like
the first time the liquor won. Growing up feels like
the first time you stood soul-naked in front of strangers or
when you finally realize 'having it together' is a myth bragged about on Facebook. Growing up feels like
nothing you imagined and thank God because growing up
feels a lot like falling –

So this is what you do.
You get up, look in the mirror and remind
the stranger staring back at you that she did not go
to college to major in the American Dream,
or to minor in parental preferences.
You remind her not to mistake
the power of God for Google
or a salary as security.
You remind her of the flame that faintly flickers
under the heaviness of misplaced, crestfallen hopes that even though small,
still burns – so you ask God
to speak over what remains and pray it glows brighter
because you believe His word is a lamp to your feet
and a light to the path you stopped walking on
when things grew dark.

So while everyone else finds a spouse, finds employment, finds an apartment,
you snugly tuck yourself away in the west-facing window of your parent’s house and
find your pride, find your fear. And
time morphs you into a poem-less Emily Dickinson as you watch the ten year-old neighbor girl talk with her
hands. She – the puppet master,
her hands – the puppets,
her imagination – the scene,
and the endless possibilities – the play.
She does not need the applause of an audience to affirm the worth of the story she creates.
She does not require the permission of others to imagine.
She does not wear the straight-jacket stiffness of grade school uniforms,
a palette of neutral shades and khakis – Continue to dare greatly, dear girl, the day is coming
when your elders will chide you for having the audacity to dream in color.