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New Mexico is in another lockdown.

Though I feel like there is a strange sense of freedom in the subversive joy that comes from the seeming act of putting human life before profit, I am preemptively reeling from a sense of foreboding darkness and loneliness that feels—and is—just on the horizon.

I am not a stranger to loneliness, or darkness, or fear. At times, these sensations have swallowed me whole; they have felt so deeply part of my human experience—what I’ve defined myself as. Seeing and sensing myself as an outcast and a loner—misunderstood and marginalized, even from my own family, even when I desperately wanted to be accepted—has been a sordid aspect of my life.

I have sometimes been rebellious, but I also know, on another level, that I have a greater level of awareness than many I have been around. An awareness that shook and shattered their sense of egoic comfort from a young age.

Sometimes I feel like I can act as a mirror for those around me, reflecting the beauty and the darkness of another. I know my presence can be triggering for some.

Perhaps that sounds arrogant, but I think it’s much closer to the truth than me just being “unlovable.” Perhaps it’s a story I tell myself to soften the blow of the idea that I might just be “weird.”

But I have always seen and sensed things more deeply than most. I have always perceived more beauty and darkness than most. It’s a gift, but it makes certain situations challenging. It’s led to much pain and rejection in my life.

It’s much easier to dull the senses and fit in. It’s much easier to drink, f*ck, and take drugs—work your senses into oblivion. (Except that has never really worked for me.)

Ironically, in truth, I feel more whole, more accepted this year than I ever have. Perhaps it’s dropping some of the drama around being misunderstood.

And perhaps, it’s sharing some of the fruits of my gifts—my perceptions, my awarenesses, my deep expressions of my feelings, my vulnerabilities—and allowing those previously forsaken parts of myself to come forward and bask in the glow of awareness. Maybe, sometimes, even love and admiration.

Being able to open up and realize that these aspects of myself, henceforth rejected and marginalized, are actually beautiful gifts I have to share has been so healing—deeply resplendent. It’s a gift I am so grateful for.

And yet, I fear that this lockdown will shatter this wholeness I have felt. I fear I will have to pick the bloody shards off the bathroom floor and place them back together in some kind of miserable f*cking mosaic.

But it’s not, and it won’t.

I know I am far from the only being who has ever felt this, and I know I am far from the only one who has the potential to heal.

Let’s see one another; let’s hear one another; let’s hold space for the magic of each other’s gifts and wisdom. Because it is vast, and it is infinite, and it is beautiful.

One of the world’s greatest tragedies is that we see our gifts as shame.

But it doesn’t have to be.

Not if we don’t let it.