the potter's hands

Something dawned on me the very day I turned thirty-nine. It was like a light went on or a page got turned. In an instant like a karmic birthday present I became more mature. I reached a new level of self-acceptance. All of my bullshit about being a victim just went up in flames when I realized how much I loved being deeply fucking weird. Not fucked up, not flawed, but weird in the exact way I have always wanted to be. The things I went through to get this weird were harrowing and painful. I was torn down and broken, but that pain is mine now. I love all of it. It made me a force for weirdness. I see my pain and my joy as the potter's left and right hands.