the slow build of dissatisfaction drifts across my horizon lazily like a cloud considering rain. there are yes’s and there are no’s in life, and sometimes they are one and the same. my gut speaks to me in whispers, sometimes shouts, saying “something is off here.”
some days go from grey to blue, from blue to yellow, from yellow to maroon. it is an evolution, unpredictable and temperamental, like trying to call my cat in from the snow. sometimes she wants to play in the icy cold, some days she wishes to escape it, and others she wavers from one to the other, unable to land on any particular desire.
a writing practice feels silly and confusing, to put enough weight into my words to create a schedule around them. what makes words special? what makes them shine with delight and wonder?
i waver, also, between wanting to try and make this work and letting go of all desire and expectation.
i grow tired of trying so hard. or more aptly, thinking about trying so hard. life feels hard enough. maybe one day i’ll believe my humanity suffices. but do we not all grasp for immortality, for the hope that we’ll matter beyond this blip of our existence?
i have been tired for most of my life. this is why i eat chocolate. i feel worn out by the striving and pining. by the this and the that. the trying to get it right despite not really knowing if i actually want it at all.
sometimes getting it wrong feels much purer, much more honest.
sometimes i wonder if i was built for any of this. if i’m getting it all wrong, and i won’t figure it out till my dying day. maybe i was meant to be a scientist, an engineer. maybe my embryo got mixed up with someone else’s.
some days i care desperately about being healthy and perfect. and others it feels rather meaningless, trivial, mundane even. to try to control the outcome. to try to seek perfection. but maybe that’s because i don’t have a really good reason to. maybe there are two types of people in this world: those with very good reasons for doing things and those who have yet to figure it out.
i am awfully tired. and i feel i’m to blame. that if i structured my day like a formula to be worked out, it would unfold with much more precision. i had it all quite right until i smoked. and it wasn’t until an hour or so following that that i began to feel the repercussions of my decision.
i need a clear head and enlivened body. my poor, poor gut. so worn out, so tired. and yet all i crave is chocolate.
i am terribly tired. i wake up tired. feel tired after a cup of coffee. feel tired in the mid-afternoon and early evening. and yet i am listless. some days it hits me right square in the eyes, other times it creeps slowly into my intestines – this sense that something is wrong, something is off. i have done the wrong thing, said the wrong thing, thought the wrong thing.
i have lost my presence and in its place is an obsession to work this out — what has gone wrong? or has it always been wrong and for the first time i am sensing it, putting my finger on the pulse of it.
i am tired of being tired. tired of that dullness that lives in the back of my eyes, the desire for deep rest. how do i find it? i sleep long and deep and yet it does not scratch the surface.
so instead i eat chocolate. and my gut rumbles, asking for a break.
if i eat too much, it permeates my being with a sense of wrongness, like i have made a grave error. when i eat too little, i feel like i am consuming myself, like it is my personal weakness that hinders my endurance of bodily functions.
i am sad and i am lost. lost to what is and what could be. it’s incredible to me the way confidence can land so forcefully, ground itself like an anchor in my being. and then an hour passes, and the doubt begins to creep up from the nethers of my psyche. and everything that once felt certain, clear, beautiful, wondrous, now feels scary, uncertain, confusing.
like a snowdrift that distorts the view. piles snow on landmarks you once knew until they are no longer recognizable, and what was once a well-worn path becomes obscured.
what am i seeking? for wisdom to eventually find me although it has been looking for me all this time.
i feel like a fool, a silly, silly fool. for wanting so deeply. for feeling so lonely. for feeling so lost. and confused.
for believing that maybe it could be me. for still believing. that i am special.
january is a time for slow. slow, methodical, intentional planning. do i know slow that is not manufactured? can i honor slow?
what shifts occur when we choose instead of fall into? is there a moral superiority to choice?