I don’t know much; that’s why I write. It’s the way I go about figuring out what all these loose thoughts rattling in my brain actually add up to. Most of them lead nowhere. I give up and walk away. Maybe I give up too easily.
How do you know when to pursue your thoughts to the very end? Because I could do that too. I have the persistence, the sheer doggedness this requires. I ask for nothing more than a goal, a mindless endpoint to drive my daily actions. It would be so easy. Like clicking a button on the computer and watching a computer program kick into gear. Let the computer do the thinking. I’ll just watch. From a distance. It’s where I feel safe.
But I am not a computer program. I am a complex web of intellect, emotion and action. I am what is termed a human being. How many people do you know that ask you who you are? Not many. They ask you what you do for a living more likely. It’s how we define ourselves. We are human doings. And what I do for a living – well – that’s not important to this rant right now. I was talking about not having a goal. Of drifting.
Living in the moment would be wonderful if it actually made me happy. But these days it’s just another excuse not to look at my life. It’s just another program I run so that my brain can shut down and go on vacation.
This is no way to live.
But what is the alternative? Actually approaching every action with the full bulk of my being? The sheer uncomfortableness of feeling. Why? Why put myself at risk like that?
All of this is pretty abstract. I don’t know what to make of it.
Sometimes I just like the clicker-clacker of my fingers on the keyboard. Did I mention I bought a Macbook Pro 13″ screen? It’s the first Apple computer I’ve ever owned, and i have to say, i’m pretty pleased.
There I go again. Wanting to talk about anything except what it is I’m doing with my life right now. My therapist says I need to really look within, sit with the discomfort I’m feeling, determine what it is I need to meet my needs. How the heck do I know? I know my needs aren’t getting met but I couldn’t tell you what those needs were. It’s frickin’ depressing is what it is.
1 – To express myself. Growing up I didn’t really express my views much. Not verbally. I skulked around mostly, like a depressed teenager does. Then I left my teens, and the skulking continued. I retreated into silence. Unlearning that isn’t easy.
2 – To help others. I like people, but it’s hard at times to reach out to them. I worry that I don’t have enough to give. That I don’t know what I should give and what I shouldn’t. My grandfather used to say: “the road to hell is paved with good intentions”. But what do we have other than our intentions?
3 – To feel seen. To me that means connecting with like-minded people who recognize me for who I feel I am. I have a partner and she definitely fulfills part of this for me. But no one person can be everything to someone else. We are pack animals. Why is it so hard for me to find people I can really, truly connect with?
4 – To trust myself. Or more accurately, to feel that I am worthy of my own trust. So often I feel hobbled by my own insecurities. When, I ask myself, am I being unreasonable? Or immature? Or just plain wrong? But surely that’s the wrong series of questions. How can I know the answers to those questions unless I dare to go into those spaces that are uncomfortable? Experience, in the end, is everything. If by everything you mean: connecting, truly connecting, with the moment you are in, with the people who join you there, with the wisdom your body carries with you.
And by you I mean me. And you. If you’re out there. If you care.
I care. I’m trying.