bored and lonely.. what are the edges?

summer feels like a time to be bored, to let the boredom flourish in the unendurably hot days that seem to last forever.

i feel loneliness creep into my bones, a familiar feeling. but not as familiar as the distracting and dopamine seeking i do as a coping mechanism.

avoidance, this is the typical strategy for the vicious duo that is boredom and loneliness.. it’s so isolating, it feels like an experience that’s only happening to you. well, me.

i’ve been meaning to write. or to be more accurate, i’ve been thinking about how writing would be good for me, of how i could be good at it if i just stuck with it. how it could liberate me from the thoughts typically confined to my headspace.

is it narcissistic to appreciate my own ideas? maybe it’s the love of thinking, of working things out. or more so mulling things over. problems are not often solved in my head, they’re picked apart.

what do i do with this loneliness that kickstarts my insecurity? i become hesitant, paranoid in my interactions, like i may say or do something “wrong.”

i just picked up a practice of doing a little dance when my perfectionism kicks in, when i get really down on myself for making what i perceive to be a mistake.

in my mind’s eye, this dance is kind of shtick-y, really poking fun at taking myself so seriously. almost like an “did i do that?” type moment where i look at the non-existent audience and gesture farcically. we’ll see if i remember to do so. an “oops” dance seems like the type of thing we’d teach a kid but never an adult.. and yet to me it seems like a means of resilience that’s as appropriate in adulthood as anywhere else in life.

there’s a part of me that’s resistant to this, poking fun at how seriously i can take myself. there’s a part of me that quips, “well life is a serious matter.” which is true.

what’s also true is that the serious matter of life demands levity to be digestible, to be, dare i say, enjoyable. i don’t know where i learned to feel guilty for enjoy life, but it seems to live in my bones.

there are some mistakes that do not warrant a silly dance afterwards. but let’s be real: most of the shit i beat myself up over does not matter beyond learning from it. i don’t benefit from berating myself, from replaying a situation in my head a dozen times to determine the exact moment i fucked things up. there is an obsessiveness to perfectionism that is wholly unproductive and unhelpful.

and this is what the oops dance is working against, what it’ll hopefully interrupt.

because fucking up can be silly. it can be the perfect reminder of how imperfectly human we are. it can connect me with all of humanity, with everyone who’s fucked up.

and it’s also just fun.

❤ ❤ ❤

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