Moments of perceived clarity can sneak up on you at inopportune times. Like when it is 2AM and you get up to use the bathroom. It is dark and you are scared, but then you succumb to a bleak feeling of loneliness. You are supposed to care more deeply about things than you do…right?
At times I think there is something horribly wrong with me. Moments, conversations, and time just float by while I live in the solitude of my headspace. All my feelings float precariously over high tension, like water striders. Well, what if I don’t want to simply glide?
Part of growth means letting go of things, ideas, mindsets, and people who don’t nourish you. It means nourishing yourself with nutritious foods, moving your body, exercising your mind, and drinking more water. It means learning to appreciate your solitude, but also learning how to be there for others. In order to grow, you must have a level of self-awareness. Turn off the distractions for awhile and allow your emotions/thoughts to flow through you. Even if they are negative. You can’t let go of negative feelings unless you allow yourself to process them or else it just settles in a dark space in your mind and subconsciously wreaks havoc.
Breathe. Relax your shoulders. Don’t look back. Especially not at those who have hurt you. Love forward.
Love is a luxury waiting on the other side of a half-closed door.
I’m trying to decide what I want my life to look like. I guess I have just always sat and waited for something extravagant to happen. This naive, hopeful heart of mine would sometimes expand in my chest and I could just feel it – something great is coming. Or perhaps I had drank too much coffee. I don’t get that feeling so much anymore. Your twenties are for drifting back down to earth sometimes. What I like about shows or books like “Master of None” or “Perks of Being a Wallflower” is that it is real. Life is made up of small moments, and the most special ones are often the simplest. I remember after that horrible thing happened, I put on Lana Del Ray, got a few smokes (even though I didn’t smoke), got in my car at midnight and just drove and cried. When I got home my hair and clothes reeked of cigarettes. I didn’t know how to handle myself, but at least I allowed myself to feel. We have lost the ability to feel really connected to the present moment. These days, it is all about living a life you can curate to the world. Well, things hurt, shit is hard, and sometimes plain unexciting. All those small moments are part of your life. It’s like reading between the lines. What lies there shapes who you are.
So I have decided I want to live a beautiful life. But I can’t sit and wait for something extravagant to happen. I have to make them happen. I have to let go of the desire to live a curated life. I have to find the beautiful in the not-so-beautiful moments. I have to connect and learn to be a naturalist again. There is a lot to be found and appreciated and loved if only you let go of an idea of how things are supposed to be.
Who are you?
A poem. I split myself open like a mango in summer and let you taste my sweetness. At sunset, the dust is visible on my chest. Like a forgotten book in a library, I am worn. Dust me off and caress my spine. When you finish my story, you will be breathless and human again. I am a lot to process. I am film that needs to be developed. Take me into the red room, discover my rage under the filtered light. Do you know the moment between wake and consciousness – before memory drizzles in, when the world is still perfect? I am not that.
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The seed of love and rage is planted between a woman’s thighs. That night, the rage flooded down my legs and made its way out of my four inch heels – straight into the diaphanous flower-printed wallpaper. I thought, “holy shit” and did not stop shaking for a week. Do you ever think about your ancestry? The history of your becoming. I think of yours and how you came to me. Sifted in dreams like flour. The integral to my rising. The awakening and dissolution of unprecedented anger and affection, epitomized in that goddamn stupid hole.
It has always been a goal of mine to go to a concert alone. It may seem small and silly to some people, but as someone with anxiety, it is a huge deal. I love to do things alone – movies, dinners, hikes. But when it comes to big events, I have mini-heart attacks. I remember my first football game in Seattle. I walked in the arena and squeezed the shit out of B’s hand. I said, “please don’t let go.”
But tonight I’m growing a pair and doing it. I had an extra ticket and a few people offered to go, but in the end I decided I wanted to go by myself. MØ’s “No Mythologies to Follow” album got me through one of the hardest times of my life. It got me through dealing with a sexual assault with nobody to talk to. I remember flying five hours to Boston with the whole album on repeat. That trip got me to believe in myself again.
I want to feel her music the way I did back then. I want to be able to cry if I need to without feeling embarrassed about it because I have someone beside me. I want to feel how I do now and relish in that emotional growth.
I told my sister I was attending a concert alone and she said, “that’s so sad, don’t choose to be lonely!” This is where her and I are fundamentally different. I believe in solitude as a way of getting to know the self.
It is silly and I am scared, but going outside of your comfort zone and doing things you have always wanted to do is the only way to grow.
2018 is the year of being afraid and going for it anyways.