Autopilot

A Poem About Evolving Away from Our Conditioned Selves

“There is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.” Amanda Gorman

In the beginning, there was dust.

Evolution transpired.

Life.

Somewhere along the way, A child was born–

Eventually, that child was Me.

At first, I was untouched. Free.

Yes, at that first cry, I was beautifully, messily, authentically, raw.

Then, unknowingly, The boxes took hold– Conditioned voices and hands everywhere.

Many, blinded without intent, but nonetheless, there.

Along the way, these boxes engulfed me.

Some large, Some small, Some enticingly wrapped in gold and bows.

I embedded their whispers, then their shouts: “Do this. Do that. We will tell you who you NEED to be.”

Somewhere along the way, I allowed the boxes to create walls around my heart and permeate my insides, like thick, oozing oil, filling my crevices of space.

I depended on these “shields” to function on autopilot.

Years passed, and I gained praise for my achievements. Numerous positive affirmations relating to my self-sacrifice. Acceptance for my conformity to mold.

So, I secured the boxes inside even though my body unknowingly suffered, despite the autopilot within.

Little did I know, I couldn’t function like that forever.

Little did I know that these boxes, This autopilot, was slowly strangling my ability to fully live.

Little did I know a cataclysmic event is all it would take to break The dam, begin the waterfall, and send the once autopiloted boxes streaming out of my body like an array of screaming, unread messages rolling to shore from the sea.

This deconstruction initially led to disorder, confusion, grief…

For I learned that autopilot doesn’t work when the tides unexpectedly shift.

So, I spent a season lost at sea: gathering, examining, questioning, and obliterating boxes– 1. By. 1.

Shattering my comfortable glass ball of conditioning and unrealistic expectations.

Questioning everything. Building my puzzle from scratch.

While emerging from the ashes, I discovered that my previous autopilot, although familiar, wasn’t real and shadowed my serenity.

My light awakens a little more each day.

And those shrieks, well they slowly transform into tiny whispers, as my truth gains momentum, and my inner voice loses shake.

As for the boxes, they’re slowly diminishing, too– 1 by 1 until –even if for brief instants– I am left with a solitary container of myself.

A vessel free from the restraints of autopilot. Free from the conditioned experiences that were not mine.

Today, I am untethered, proud, unashamed. Today I am courageously viewing every sunrise as another golden opportunity to be completely boxless and wholeheartedly, authentically, imperfectly, beautifully, Me.