When I was in high school, there was a nun who took a group of girls to Europe every other year in June (along with additional chaperones). As someone who’d yearned to travel the world since a young age, I was desperate to go. My parents told my grandpa about it, and he decided to pay for it as a gift for my high school graduation.
It was a quick trip that took us through parts of England, France, Switzerland, and Italy in two weeks, including flights to and from Europe. When we were in Paris, we were not scheduled to go by the Louvre, which was a major disappointment. (This should not come as a surprise, as I think I’ve demonstrated how much I love art.) Somehow, we ended up with a two-hour free window, so we convinced the tour guide to give us just an hour to go through the Louvre. We literally ran through the museum in different groups, seeing as much as we could. I ended up getting to see several notable works of art, including the Winged Victory of Samothrace (Niké of Samothrace) and the Mona Lisa.
On our travels, we also got to see Michaelangelo’s David. One thing you don’t realize when you see it in pictures is the grand scale of the sculpture. It’s seventeen feet tall—huge. The most remarkable aspects of this piece of art to me are the details. Michaelangelo took the time to carve veins into David. It’s nothing short of remarkable. It took Michaelangelo three years to complete the marble sculpture.
Something I realized about myself recently is that I’m kind of like a raw piece of marble. I feel like I was born a beautiful piece of art. But due to the traumatic experiences and survival techniques I developed as a child, I added chunks of marble to hide myself, to stay safe. I’ve been learning about the tools and actions I put on long ago. I know they have harmed me because I no longer need them.
Over the past couple of years, I’ve begun chipping away at the hunk of marble I’d become. As I slowly remove the marble that I no longer need, I’ve discovered more about myself—about who I was, who I am, and who I was always meant to be. I’ve also discovered that as I embrace vulnerability and open myself up to others, they are somehow able to chip away some of the marble, too.
Eventually—hopefully, sooner than later—I’ll be able to see the full work of art that is my true self. Until then, I’ll keep gently hammering my chisel, revealing who I am.