On December 13, 1981 a star was born.
That was real dramatic wasn’t it? But it’s true. On that date, around 7 pm, according to my mama, a new (or fairly new) person entered this world. I say fairly new because I’m not convinced that reincarnation isn’t real. I mean, how else to you explain deja vu or how some things (and some people) almost immediately feel like home? It’s because we’ve been here before and we’ve been sent back here to get things right this time (or just do a better job, at least).
What does it mean, to get things right? To me, it means fulfilling a purpose. I’ve been thinking a lot about my purpose this week, partially because most days don’t go by without me thinking about what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. But it has been more heavily on my mind this week. And I’m blaming my mother for this too. (Most things are her fault, anyway, right?)
She says to me (on my birthday), “You are special. You have always been special. You have a calling on your life. I don’t know if you are supposed to preach (her wish for me) or if you are supposed to help people in some other way, but your life has a purpose, you have a mission.”
After I picked my damn mouth up off the floor, I stuttered my agreed. Yes, I said, I’m supposed to help people, and I went on to ask, “And since you are prophesying-why don’t you just tell me HOW I’m supposed to help people, I know the WHAT (sort of) but I’m stuck on the HOW.”
Of course, she didn’t have that answer. And yes, my mother is, like, crazy ya-ya spiritual. I just go with it; there is NO WAY to explain it. So when she starts telling me a dream that she had about me (that mirrored something that actually happened in my life) or when she says I’m “called” to do something, I take that sh*t seriously. She’s just that connected to whatever higher power is pulling the strings (or she’s crazy).
Either way, She’s right. I’m here on purpose. My birth was no accident. I have something to do that no one else could do. Now, if someone could just TELL MY WHAT MY PURPOSE IS!!!!!!!
Well, I’ve decided that 27 is a good enough age to figure that sh*t out. And it’s time for me to embrace whatever the hell I’m supposed to be.
I’m excited about being 27. Isn’t 27 the BEST age? It’s not like 24 where you are still too young, in most cases, to be taken seriously, or like 35 when you are too old to “drop it like it’s hot” or some other thing that 30+ people don’t do.
But at 27 I’m old enough to prove that I’ve been around the block and I know what the hell I’m talking about, but I’m still young enough to get a tattoo without having folks roll their eyes.
So I’m excited about 2009 and I’m looking forward to all that I will accomplish during my 27th year!
I’m going to go ahead, letting the Universe know that I’m expecting this year to be moniceriffic (or monicalicious, or monicawesome (either will do).