It’s like this:
We were born into a world with sticky, hot heat. Like Orlando but worse. And from day one we were told that lots of thick heavy layers were the only way to combat this climate, this world.
“It keeps your skin and senses safe from…everything…”
“Huh? How could…?”
“Just wear them.”
So we do. We wear everything we are told to wear (and some we aren’t). Until we decide not to. And we start taking off these layers, these scarves and sleeves. Then we are naked, or maybe one thin layer away from naked. And naked feels so good for the first time. Those coats were thick and heavy, we thought they were good and useful. They dripped with sweat, steam, and shame. They were not easy to un-peel from your body either. At least mine weren’t.
The coat of “all people are inherently wicked.”
The “But that’s what they said at church and youth group” one.
“You need to…”
The things you always felt were true may have always actually been true. Just like you knew deep down that layers and layers in summer in Orlando is bat-effing crazy. Maybe going to college is nuts, or maybe it isn’t? Maybe church is nuts, or maybe it isn’t? Is it possible homosexuality isn’t everything everyone says it is? What if hell isn’t what we’ve been told it is? Perhaps not every human needs to look thin and fit and camera-ready every moment of the day? Maybe perfection sucks?
I’m really enjoying the exhausting un-peeling. The act of stripping down is never really pleasurable (real stripping, anyway), but I finally feel the summer breeze saunter through these big front windows. And wow do those afternoon drizzles feel refreshing! Those coats sucked. Naked and unashamed is good.