Without knowing how to tie my shoes, before I was tall enough to ride the ride, I crept into the shadows barefoot, and found my hiding place.
Without knowing my own true name, I blazed a brazen trail, all swagger and risk, hard laughter and long brown cigarettes. Men and women found my bed. But no one found my hiding place.
Without knowing what it was for, I carried my heart around in the world. We learned to bodysurf in the rough waters of Laguna Beach. We crawled around the empty 5am city after a night of love in New York. We sipped espressos with my friends in Forte dei Marmi. I still didn’t know what my heart was for, But I knew how to look like I did, so no one ever dreamed there was a hiding place.
Without knowing the way, I asked and asked and asked and asked and asked. I looked for signs, tried to read them, read them wrong. I got lost, and asked again. Somebody else, somebody different. I followed directions. I tried hard. I fell down. I got up.
Without knowing the way, I was at the world’s mercy, and she showed me everything. She showed me that from my hiding place I could go everywhere, but I couldn’t get anywhere.
Without knowing what I was doing, I found my hiding place and stepped barefoot out of the shadows
and into my life.