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Originally published on Medium, (non-members, view story here)

Don’t overthink it, take a chance on that
It’s going to be good for you
It’s going to be good for you
I don’t think it’s that deep, just relax
It’s going to be good for you
It’s going to be good for you.

— Know Good and JEANLOUIS “Living Backwards”

Music has a way of suspending the passwords I set on life.

The chokeholds I feel in order to be — to sustain myself in a crooked world that prides itself on sameness, unrelinquished loyalty, and lives trophied in the straight and narrow.

In my nearly thirty-eight years of life, if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that change is necessary. Change has been good for me.

Living backwards is a meaning that reached me metaphysically. Common definitions suggest an explicit returning to a past life or past ways.

It almost carries an immature or nostalgic in connotation. Yet, less known is the proximity of living backwards to mortality. A recognition that life and death are inextricably linked.

Inkwell Beach in Oak Bluffs, Martha’s Vineyard. Photo credit: Jocelyn McQuirter

My changing system

In the past five years, I’ve rapidly evolved. I’ve accepted the merry-go-round and freight train of life. It’s both a blessing with joy, connection, and belonging. It’s also a hurricane of change, turmoil, and grief.

Until life took taxing drifts, I remained aloof to the depths of my grief. I remember being frantic, triggered, and fragile. I remember the knots my stomach felt when the passwords I’d been setting in life didn’t work anymore. Something changed. Felt too soon to believe I was hacked.

I remember few friends could relate to what I was going through. It was new to many. Some even tried to convince me to keep the passwords the same.

There is nothing like tasting sweltered pavement ― the kiss of rock bottom. The pavement didn’t meet me with love and delight. Instead, the reset started with agony, isolation, and darkness.

I lost friends and relationships. My body weight tanked too. I lost money and time. Most heartbreakingly, I lost and buried loved ones. Yet still, every loss ignited something deep in my soul — remember to live.

A new day on purpose

Don’t wait for anyone to give you permission to practice your art. You must always be practicing, even when no one’s listening — and most of the time, no one’s listening. George C. Wolfe ― Billy Porter, Unprotected: A Memoir

I learned I can’t change passwords when systems are disconnected.

I would overthink everything. I could not decide on my own. I was scared of the unknown. What will people think? How will I be accepted if I don’t stay the same? What if I’m not good enough? That was me with no substantive connection to my body, my mind, my spirit.

Religion raised me with a critical consciousness of being the most and least visible. From door-to-door knocking on Saturdays, to each birthday dimmer than a flickering candle, I was seen and unseen. I was a middle child Black girl existing in a world that saw me, tolerated me, but rarely took the time and care to know my depth or possibility.

It took a long time to relax into my purpose. If I’m being honest, I’m probably still fighting for my life on cringe mountain.

Photo of Jocelyn (the author) in the early 1990s as a child. Standing in front of the camera wearing a flamingo crop top, multi colored shorts, and one hand raised and partially holding the side of her right cheek. — Little Jocelyn circa 1990

The cost of change

I had to get really uncomfortable to experience life that felt less force and more flow. Survival required stepping into standards of me. I changed my passwords and permissions.

As I get older, I keep thinking more and more that that’s my only job is to give more and more people permission to be themselves. And that the more people that feel they have that permission, the revolution takes care of itself. ― adrienne maree brown

So, the passwords look different and more than ever are working in my favor. I choose to unwild myself; I rewire and alchemize systems and connections. I bet on myself. I get goofy. I embarrass myself. I lead with courage. No doubt, fear still exist. Yet, I careless what people think about me. I care more about my propensity for humanity.

Doors opened for me because I chose to believe in what the universe was trying to tell me all along — Every relationship, every loss, every pit of shame, every seemingly diabolical transgression brought a lesson in how willing I’d become to accept my settings or choose new ones.

Now, I pen words with boldness in mind. I choose passwords that are stronger and mightier than ever before.

I’m giving myself permission to be closer to my dreams — closer to the earth — to sovereignty in how I take care of myself — indulge in leafy greens and cultivate gardens — hold my child and the children in high esteem — rest my cape on the mantle — and ultimately, be in the best vibration of me.

I care enough about today to reset and reframe both the past and tomorrow. For the first time in my life, I feel what it means to be present. I choose to live out the beauty of life more fulfilled.

I know they say not to share passwords, but this one is definitely worth it. Carry on.