Permission To Want

WEEK 8: I can see in color. Women on the threshold

I went to a Juneteenth celebration last weekend.

I am an introverted, solitary person. Being in a crowd that size, I naturally draw inward. To stay in a space like that, I have to pull from my inner reserves — otherwise I retreat. I wanted to be there. I just had to manage my energy.

So I walked every row, occasionally stopping at vendors booths. I listened to the DJ while watching people dance — groups of friends, couples, families — everyone out in the warm coral light of a summer evening, soaking up the weather, the vibe, the moment. It was exhilarating to be among joyful Black people. It always is. It’s magical.

The next day, a new acquaintance told me she’d been struck by the peace I exuded. That filled me with joy. I never want to seem standoffish; I adore being in those spaces; with Black women. So for her to feel my peace — that was fulfilling.

I live a quiet life. I care for three rambunctious grandchildren, and still, I spend a great deal of time alone, intentionally. Not isolation. Solitude. I write. I muse. I spend a lot of time simply being.

For years I’ve wanted a hammock. Last month I brought it and this week set it up in the backyard. Heaven. Watching the grands and the dog run in and out of the sprinkler, and me, happily swinging with a book and glass of lemonade.

This year, I started writing my book about my two decades in ministry, which has led me to delve deeper into my own experiences. I’m not just recalling memories — I’m also bringing up the emotions tied to them. For a long time, I hesitated to write it because I knew completing it would mean re-engaging with the world. Although I want to share about the book my life, and the people I’ve been in community with, I was apprehensive about stepping back into the light. Being away from the spotlight has been comforting.

Eventually I understood: this is my path. I am a teacher, a guide, and writing is the vehicle I’m driving now. And to drive it, I would have to — not reinvent myself — become myself.

I had to give myself permission to be seen.

So I began to prepare, with every tool in my box, old and new. I take spiritual baths. I go on long distances — partly to stay fit, but mostly to clear my head and let new and dormant ideas surface. I journal more than I ever have; I don’t go anywhere without a notebook. I’ve been exploring new methods of self-care through Ayurveda and the chakras.

For the third time in my adult life, first in my teens, then in my 40s, and now in my 60s, I am re-visioning who I am and what I might still become. What a blessing! It is so easy to stay the same. Last week I wrote about how routine, met with intention, becomes ritual — and ritual guides you home.

I am becoming.

In the film Beloved, Denver is a young woman who loves her family deeply but is walled inside a painful inheritance. To save herself, she has to leave the front yard and walk out into the world. One of the most triumphant moments in that film is watching her take those first tentative steps toward the gate — and through it.

That is where so many of us stand. At the front gate. Everything behind us is safe, familiar, ours. Across the threshold is the unfamiliar, the frightening, the unpermitted.

Because here is what happens at midlife: people younger than you and I, and sometimes our own peers, are rigid about the role they believe suits us. That role is usually the one that benefits them.A role that requires us to stay in place, ready to assist them when required.

We are told we shouldn’t want more. That we should coast gracefully on the way out. Travel, garden — those are acceptable; those are the soft, faded colors they’ll allow us. But what if you want to dye your hair, dress differently? Ride a motorcycle? Take a much younger lover? Leave town? What if the want that has risen in you is loud — magenta — and refuses to be toned down?

Would you get pushback? And from whom?

That is the real threshold. Not the wanting — the permission. For years many of us wore the muted palette we were handed: the beige of always being available, the grey of fading out politely. Desire is the color returning. It is coral rising into the body like warmth into a cold hand. It is magenta — the boldest, least apologetic shade there is — insisting that you be seen in full.

Sit with these this week:

• Is there a desire you have dismissed so many times that it has gone quiet? What was it?

• What would you make, pursue, or become if no one’s opinion of it mattered?

• What does desire feel like in your body when you let yourself feel it?

• What would it mean to treat your own longing with the same seriousness you give everyone else’s needs?

We lose ten pounds more easily than we give ourselves permission to want. The weight isn’t the hard part, even though we say it is.

Giving ourselves permission is.

What would you want — out loud, in full color — if no one’s approval were required?

The answers you seek are within you.

A prayer for this week

Lord, I want to stop dimming myself for other people’s comfort. I want to feel my own wanting return to me again like the sun in summer. I want to give myself permission to be seen in full color — coral, magenta, and every shade I was told to tone down. And may I trust that the longing rising in me now is not too late and never too much, Amen.

Below is the trailer from one of my favorite movies, Juanita, starring Alfre Woodard. Juanita gave herself not just permission to want, but to go do! Now on Netflix.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kg5uqDh00H4

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