Wines & Prologues

I was walking back home when a wave of self-doubt crashed on my shores. It was expected since I’ve been feeling a little under the weather due to what my friend called my monthly thingy, but I continued walking, because what was I to do? Stop in my tracks and cry out of nowhere?

So I walked…

And walked, and walked. Every step equals a word in my head. Every foot or two, a sentence until sentences turned to paragraphs, which turned into more paragraphs, and then even more—paragraphs upon paragraphs upon paragraph.

Until my foot hung for that next step.

I asked myself, “Am I being too much?”

Myself answered, “Could be. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Could be.” I shrugged my shoulders. I could really be too much, after all.

Too much this, too much that.

“But it’s okay to be too much. Some say it’s a good thing, even.” Myself said. “Keep the weeds off the flowerbed.”

“Does it, though?” I chuckled. How could “too much” ever be a good thing? “People leave when it gets too much.”

“Let them leave if they must. That’s nature doing its work; the weeds weeding themselves out. Think about this, would you put a bouquet of towering sunflowers in a small vase?”

I shook my head.

“Right? You wouldn’t. You would look for a bigger, sturdier vase to hold them in. It’s like that. You’re a bouquet of sunflowers and if they can’t handle that then they’re just the wrong vase for you. Remember, it’s not that you’re too much. It’s just that they lack the capacity to hold you.”

“And that’s okay?” I asked again, my steps feeling lighter.

Myself chuckled, “Of course, it’s okay. What are you even saying?”

But the wind suddenly blew, so the waves still came crashing.

“But isn’t too much just… too much? Too much voice, too much air, too much space. Just, you know, too much. Too big. Too suffocating. Too loud. Too… drowning.”

“What of it?”

“What do you mean ‘What of it?’?”

Myself cocked her head, brows knitting toward the center. “Yeah, what of it? What if your voice reached other galaxies? What if your thoughts greeted Persephone in her garden? What if you breathe more air, what if you take up more space? What of it? Can you imagine a world where everyone wants to be small—just because they’re afraid of being too much?”

“But people make a face when I’m being too much.”

“That’s because they don’t know what to do with your… muchness. So they look for something they can actually hold. Do you get me?” There’s a slight frustration in her voice.

“I get you, but…”

“But what?” she rolled her eyes, and I thought, see? This is muchness!

My skies rumbled as I lowered my head. This is too much, even to myself.

“You feel too much because the people around you never learned how tall sunflowers could grow. You feel too much because maybe—just maybe—the ones who told you that you’re too much… were once told they had to be less, too. You feel like you’re too much, because you believed there was only one vase meant for you.”

I made a small sound.
The wind blowing away the gathering clouds,
the waves starting to calm down—
no more thrashing—only a gentle push and pull of the sea.

“It’s a lot to wrap my head around.” I told Myself.

“It is, and it’s okay. Just take a breath, and relax. People who know how to keep you won’t complain. People who know how to tend to your garden will look at you with admiration and think you’re one of the bestest, if not the very best, out there. And until you find someone who could, the earth will be your vase.”

I took a deep deep breath and exhaled the remaining grey skies in my head.

Maybe I am too much.
And maybe—yes. That’s okay.