A Mind That Moves

By Aliya Goodnature 

 

The summer I stopped letting others paint me.

I was outside the other day, sober. I notice I get drunk or high off good company, connection, and conversation. I’ve always enjoyed observing my surroundings. I’ve become more reserved, and intentional with my words with time. I slow down to give them meaning. The less I say, the more impact they carry. In that silence, I can see who understands and who grows uncomfortable.

Lately, I’ve felt present. Hopeful. Excited. I’m learning how to sit with the lessons life is throwing at me.

The more quiet I remain within them, the more disconnected I become from my own world.

I wasn’t taught how to sit with what I feel, I was shown how to numb it. How to suppress it, not understand it. Not lean into it, but avoid it.

The presence I feel now has recently shown me the art of socialization. The purpose it provides to learn more about yourself, and the people around you. However, this level of awareness comes with suffering, or as I’ve recently started calling it, clouds.

I’ve started to invest my energy into new environments and quickly noticed a familiar pattern. My need to please. For the past couple of years, I confused understanding people with adapting to them. The more I adjusted myself to fit the room, the less I contributed to it.

My mind loves to move. But, I need space before turning my opinions into decisions. Too often, that space creates room for someone else to decide first, and I end up following.

I know I can come across as intimidating, but I don’t enjoy being rushed. I avoid it. My silence is often mistaken as certainty. Most of the time, I’m still thinking.

I spend time romanticizing humanity.

I believe we’re all walking pieces of art, regardless of what’s painted on our canvases. None of us have it figured out. None of us will ever have it figured out. But, I’m beginning to enjoy being around the pieces that catch my eye, the ones that stir something within me. The ones that align, connect, create, inspire, and, most importantly, offer me the honesty and space to do the same.

Many remind me of blank canvases, waiting to be painted by those around them. Others feel like pieces hanging in an exhibition, confidently displaying their beauty and perspective.

I thought I was participating by observing. I wasn’t.

I enjoy the bold art. Risky art. Art that forces an opinion. Not because they want everyone to agree, but because they value what happens next. The discussion. The disagreement. The attempt to understand another perspective.

I believe if we’re not actively apart of the lives we’re living, then were not investing anything with real emotional context.

I’ve been finding it more difficult to connect with the blank canvases. People who seem uncomfortable expressing their own opinions. I can sense how easily swayed they can be by the room around them. I can only hope they’ll paint themselves eventually, just as I once have and continue to do.

But, I’ve learned through many courses that I can’t paint for them.

For a long time, I thought I could. I thought it was my responsibility to guide people toward becoming who they wanted to be. Life has taught me otherwise. Maybe I can be someone to lean on. I can offer perspective. But I only have enough time to paint myself.

I’m learning to face the fear of being misunderstood because I once was the viewer standing in front of a painting, confused by what I was seeing. Now, I’m beginning to embrace that it isn’t my responsibility to control how others interpret my art.

I’d rather take the risk.

I’d rather show myself to the world, speak my truth, and follow my instincts even if it means not being fully understood.

We’re often too quick to assume that we’ll connect with every painting we encounter. But if you know anything about art, you know that’s never been the point.