What My Disco Ball Sees

I recently thought about what my disco ball must think about me. I know that sounds interesting, but sometimes I like to imagine what the inanimate objects around me must think, because if they were watching, they would see me in all my pieces. I have a disco ball hanging in the space, which includes the kitchen, apothecary, living room, art room, office space, and dance floor. That is the beauty of the loft. It is one big space, and it is used for everything.

I finally hung the disco ball two months ago after wanting it since I moved in, and she has seen a lot. A lot has gone on in the past two months: a lot of process, a lot of healing, a lot of doubt, a lot of spiraling, and a lot of excellent breakthroughs. There has been a lot of back-and-forth and heartache with situations and relationships, as well as many fun visits, much progress, many ideas being followed, and also the therapy sessions with my friends and with my clients.

She has watched me work, pace the floors when I do not have enough clients for the day, crunch numbers, stress, celebrate any little bit of success, and have dance parties to move whatever energy was stuck in me.

She watches me do my yoga practice. She watches me do somatics at the end of the day. She watches me cry. She watches me spiral on the couch, journal, and always pull myself back to myself. She watches me get back into my own energy, over and over and over again. She watches me take everything I go through and transmute it into something. She watches me take my perspective and turn it towards hope. She watches me create. She watches me come up with ideas and epiphanies and take all of these feelings, tension, heartache, frustration, and friction and transmute them into something.

She watches me paint, draw, cook my meals and eat shamefully when I order Uber Eats. She does not judge me. She watches me judge me. She watches my plants, how I dote over them, how I try to keep them growing, and how I tell them every time I walk by that I love them.

She has watched me redecorate. She has watched me organize and organize some more. She has watched me get rid of things and add things. She has watched me dream and invent and create and curate. She has watched me go through old journals, pages and pages of journals, ripping them out and putting them in boxes, and taking those pieces and turning them into something. She is watching me in progress.

My disco ball watches me when I am happy and joyful and beebopping around my house. She watches me when I am grateful and in awe, taking it all in. She watches me when I am anxious and trying to hold on tight to everything. She watches me grip tight to things I do not want to lose, and then surrender to the knowing that I have always been protected and that things always work out for me.

She watches me go from point A to point B in everything. She watches me write, stare at my computer screen, and pace. She watches me dance some more. She watches me light incense, and me cleaning my house meticulously. She watches me reorganize again. She watches me have runway shows in the middle of my living room, and watches as I walk out the door repeatedly because I am trying to be outside. She then watches me come home and process.

The disco ball is a bunch of shiny mirrors that sometimes catch my reflection, sometimes the sun, sometimes the light, sometimes the blankets and couches, and the colors in just the right way to create a little bit more magic in the space. And that disco ball, in all her glory and imperfection yet perfection, watches me in all of my glory and imperfection yet perfection.

She watches me go through all of the things and transmute them into a different perspective. A perspective that is teaching me and growing me, that is helping me see clearly, that is moving me in directions I am ready to move in, and helping me be more embodied.

It is all a reflection. Everything is a mirror. This disco ball in all of her mirrors represents the way all of me is a reflection of the world, and the world is reflecting back to me. Every interaction guides me and shows me something. Even in the friction and the upset, the mirrors expand me. They show me exactly what I need to see to progress.

Sometimes, I have to remember that I am the one looking in the mirror. It is not the other people who are showing me the way or validating me. It is me. I am seeing myself through other people. The mirror was always on me because that is where my answers live.

In all her mirrors, my disco ball reminds me that reflection is always available, that even in imperfection there is light. She does not need me to be finished or polished to shine me back to myself. Maybe that is the gift: knowing that wherever I stand, I am already whole enough to be reflected.

Was that my Disco Ball or Me seeing Me? Maybe it’s both? Maybe we’ll never know.