The Mystique is Gone. It’s Gone Away.
Almost 24 hours have elapsed since I…Myesha Danielle Jenkins…became a published author.
When I was neck deep in the process of getting to this milestone, it held a certain mystique. Intellectually, I knew there would be no outward difference. I touch my foot on the left of the finish line: unfinished. I touch my foot to the right: finished. “Unfinished, finished, unfinished, finished…” But still, now that I can’t go back and forth–I am at once, finished–the mystique of it all is gone. I am still Myesha, the woman who furiously bites the inside of her mouth and chews the minute pieces of skin between her teeth; who loves the idea of being a great cook–can cook–but would much rather be doing something else; who is really clumsy and awkward when excited; who loves to dance but doesn’t get to as much as she wants to except for at home while her family gives her the side eye; and I could go on. My life is essentially the same. But it is not the same. I have been stretched and pushed in ways that have changed my composition–much like the body of an athlete or dancer–into something different. I am on the other side of it. I have walked into the dark wood, down the well worn path, and into the company of so many others–those tortured by the words that were screaming to break forth. The mystique is gone because those words are gone.
I have more words, common as mud words, that I have to give. I know they are meant for someone out there.