“How I found Desiderata Twice” 

 By Clara Liberty

3/13/206

 Desiderata is a Latin word meaning “things desired” or “things looked for.”

       I found this wooden plaque by a dumpster “3-ish” years ago, around the time of getting out of a rehab stint. I wasn't "cured" yet. In fact, it would take me a long time after that to finally get sober.

       For years, I kept this "Desiderata" near me, but I couldn't really live it. However something with it resonated with me, and I felt it was strong and special. Honestly it moved several places; family's homes, sheds, boyfriend’s houses, my old apartment, storage units, and then now 3 years later after having no idea where it had been, it’s found its way back to me somehow. Also with it being 3 years since I found it, I have private reasoning why the number 3 isn’t only ironic but important. 

      Before I was sober; I was weak. I was afraid to speak up. I didn’t stand up for myself. It really took a toll on me for a long time. I didn't feel like I had a leg to stand on, and honestly I didn’t. I wasn’t living right. You get pushed around when people threaten to constantly black mail you; but guess what… I got black mailed anyway regardless of not sticking up for myself. When you're living in the middle of your own chaos, you feel disqualified from having an opinion. You stay quiet because you feel weak, like your voice doesn't carry any weight. You think, "Who am I to talk about truth when I’m living a lie?" The poem tells you to "Speak your truth quietly and clearly," but for a long time, I didn't have a truth to speak. I just had a secret to hide.

But things are different now.

          I’m sober. And the weirdest side effect of sobriety isn't just the health or the clarity—it’s the loss of fear. I realized that my "freedom of speech" isn't just a right given by the government; it’s an epiphany of “f— them” if they don’t like me or what I say. Don’t get me wrong; I do not speak with ill intent. However, I do wish to speak when I see others hurt, or corruption. Also, another reason why I feel I’ve earned speaking my mind is this: When I feel I have/had genuinely messed up in life; I have always admitted it. Even if it took a few hours, or a few days to analyze the situation. Having a conscience can be a blessing and a curse. It’s rare to find one in people these days. 

            I don't have to worry about "what they'll say about me" anymore because I finally don’t give a damn. And how nice that feeling is. I can look at the "noise and haste" of the world—the government, the drama, the "loud and aggressive persons"—and I don't feel small. I still have quite a ways to go before I reach where I want to be, but at least I can lay my head down at night with a clear conscience. I feel like someone who actually has a right to be here.

           The plaque says it’s from 1692. It’s actually from the 1920s. People call that an error, but in my life, it’s a metaphor. We don't have to be perfect, and our history doesn't have to be a straight line for the message to be real.

         I found this in the trash when I felt like trash. I kept it while I was silent and weak. And I’m reading it now, out loud, because I finally have the legs to stand on.

                    "Be careful. Strive to be happy."