Today is day 2 of a 21 day 'cleanse'. Nothing too crazy... just eating clean, cutting out booze, and making a commitment to get back to some of the self care stuff I have slacked off on these last few months. Hopefully the next few weeks will give me back some energy, patience, clarity and awareness...a little reset, if you will. The first three days are always the hardest for me... my body and brain are working overtime to pump out all the toxic shit I have been collecting in them for the last several months... I do this 2 or three times a year... generally spring and fall, and I sometimes wonder what it would be like if I could just stick to it as opposed to jumping on and off and on again... I suppose self discipline for me comes in incremental doses, alternated with periods of self indulgence.
I have been called 'overly sensitive', emotional, hell- even crazy. I have written about the intensity that comes with feeling all the feels, it's exhausting sometimes, beautiful other times, and sometimes it's confusing. It takes an immense amount of energy and vigilance to consistently monitor what I am taking in and also what I am filtering out. And because I have been burned pretty hard before with respect to being authentic with people about it... I often am not. I scale back, I hide, work hard at only letting parts of myself come through. It's a tough spot to be in sometimes. Sometimes, it's lonely and frustrating. Sometimes I want so desperately to just let it all out... and sometimes I do let it all out... I will hop on here and write, or lose myself in a great book or I will meditate or walk or cook... occasionally parts of it trickle out in conversation... sometimes the flood gates open and it comes out in sobs or laughter, sometimes I just brood quietly.
For the most part, I have learned how to embrace it (or at the very least, manage it) I have developed an elaborate system of self care that seems to work... when I actually practice it-which of course I fail at often, but hey, we're all human-right? I have written at length about how my self care regiment is an awkward stream of ebb and flow... sometimes I am super on it, sometimes I am not... and the benefits are obvious when I am, the consequences just as obvious when I am not. I suppose I wear a lot more on my sleeve then I would like to admit sometimes.
I stumbled over this article on Survival of Super Sensitive Souls this morning, it was a nice little reminder that I am not the only one who requires a little conscious upkeep. For the most part, all of those tips are things I do on a regular basis... I am not always great at recognizing number 4, which is why number 5 on that list is so damned important. When surrounded by people who understand, the chances of picking up what's not mine or being judged for being who I am diminish and therefore authenticity is almost guaranteed, in time.
Number 6 is that ebb and flow I was talking about. When I get stressed, I tend to put self care shit on the back burner, which launches this vicious cycle where I eat shit, don't sleep, and dive further down the rabbit hole of unconsciousness. This in turn distracts me and allows for people and 'stuff' that isn't mine to sneak in through the window of stress, robbing me of what little energy I have left for myself. I get run down, overwhelmed, and start making terrible choices and my mood and attitude follow suit... this goes on for days, or weeks or months, until something will finally sound the alarm loud enough for me to stop, take a breath, and actually listen to myself.
At some point in all of this, I realize that taking care of me requires much less effort than not doing it... even though I may whine and complain to myself about how it seems like consciousness is sometimes the short straw... like those who are living unconsciously seem to have it so much easier, that ignorance does seem to be bliss at times, and why can't I just stick my head in the sand like that person...or why can't someone just take care of me... and then I remember, we all have some beautiful disaster in us, and it's the beauty that makes the disaster worth it. And then it dawns on me-I am good with taking responsibility for me, because I know I will come through for me. I know that even when it seems pretty deep and dark and self deprecating in my own mind... The darkness provides me with the opportunity to appreciate my soul's fireflies because it's that same darkness that gives them something to illuminate.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Thursday, March 6, 2014
The Fear Factory
Within that post are some great examples of things we as humans fear:
The fear of being alone, of being abandoned, of being cheated on, of being harmed, betrayed or used.
Alright, let me own that. Some of those are things I fear. So what drives them? What fuels them? Where do they begin? I mean, mine can basically be boiled down to two separate, but related fears-fear of disappointing others coupled with that intense fear of rejection I have written about many times before in posts like Pulse...
Reading through back posts, it's obvious that this fear topic pops into my mind often. I try to both stay aware of it, as well as push myself beyond my warm and cozy comfort zone as much as possible. Which means being aware of when I am avoiding things for the simple fact that I have some fear surrounding it... In the last year I began conquering one of those fears by starting to go places solo, which may seem like no big deal to many of you, but for the girl who would NEVER so much as THINK of rolling up to a party (even if it were a party of my closest friends), let alone a bar, or far scarier, a restaurant without some sort of wing man or posse as a buffer, I had this intense fear of being alone, with myself. So, this has been a gigantic step. I think it's interesting that it took almost four years of singledom to get to this point of comfort with myself amongst the outside world. And I won't lie, when I started challenging myself in this way, it was fucking scary, but now, it seems pretty second nature.
I think some fears are much more predominant in our lives today because there are so many ways to AVOID facing those fears. For instance: it was a hurdle to start doing shit on my own, but the bigger hurdle came when I challenged myself to do it without having my face buried in my phone as a crutch (yes, there's ALWAYS another layer). With the litany of social networking sites and the like around the web, it is easier than ever to have my best face forward (or buried) in all sorts of arenas... as I have mentioned before, this is not necessarily a bad thing; I do not believe it is possible or plausible to let every single person know every single side of us. I mean come on, that's TMI with a capital everything. Where it does become problematic though is when all of our authenticity is lost in that process AND the very act of doing so leads us further away from any sort of self evident truths.
A friend shared this post the other day, called 7 Reasons Why You Will Never Do Anything Amazing In Life and as I sat at my computer, reading through the list, I was struck by how many of those things (albeit unintentionally) I am guilty of. That first reason, because you haven't failed enough, struck the biggest chord with me in respect to all this best face forward shit. A few years back, I wrote about being ready to fail a lot in the post Shutter Speed. I went back and re-read that post and thought, huh. It all still applies, and.... I am STILL doing my best to avoid failure, which is at once a frustrating and refreshing awareness. It's frustrating because confronting awarenesses over and over IS fucking frustrating. It's fucking tough to once again gnaw on that old shoe-leathered-humble-pie. But, at the same time, I am grateful to make the connection (again) and begin (again) to work through the awareness, discovering new (as well as forgotten) ways to apply it in my life.
And there I am, standing in front of the mangled closet door, completely flabbergasted as to how my fears could have so easily escaped. And all of the sudden, panic sets it. H-O-L-Y F-U-C-K, HOLY FUCK, HOLY FUCK! The tidal wave of anxiety hits me. The autonomic fight or flight response sets in. And, I begin searching desperately for those ripped, gnarly, fears. I am pissed and hyper focused on finding those fears and re-caging them. But my focus is misguided. Because the point, all along, has not been to cage my fears. The point is to either let that shit out or step into the cage and fucking fight it out.
...So you must fight hard to express it. You must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it. Because if you don’t, if your fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to future attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you. ~ Yann Martel (Life of Pi)
That's a quote from a quote in How to Be Afraid & Do It Anyway, which helped me really bring some of my fear shit full circle. I am tired of continuing to nail the fucking closet door shut for fear of my fears getting out. I am good with having fears. I am not good with letting them rule me. So, as the chick so brilliantly suggested, it's time to introduce those fears to the light of day. Perhaps the most striking quote from the above post is this:
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.”
I think I have come to the realization that all of my fears... in whatever skewed form they take on in a particular moment are less about my own perceived inadequacies and more about claiming my own power. Sure, I know that I have the power to change my life, or my perceptions or my thoughts, but I don't know that I have ever allowed myself to truly and completely let the depth of that sink in. Usually, I think of this in terms of 'not giving my power away' now I am starting to see that it's about truly owning that power.
What would happen if instead, I chose to embody it? What if instead of worrying about what others think, or avoiding things for fear of failure, I were to focus completely on what I think, and how I can manifest things in my life? Perhaps then, I can make some real progress. Pretty sure that the lack of commitment to myself is what feeds the fears. Devoting so much focus to keeping those fears in their cage (or chasing them back into the cage) allows me to temporarily 'forget' these awarenesses...ya know, like the awareness that avoidance is a detour, not a solution. Sometimes things are so damned simple, it's the over thinking that gets me. Every. Fucking. Time.
I let my mind run wild with fears and endless inner chatter. As a result, I lose focus and I lose that cage fight with my fears. When it comes down to it, I can choose to let my fears rule me or I can choose to quiet my mind and center myself. So simple... yet so very easy to forget, if I allow myself to.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Freshly Pressed Dress
Do yourself a favor and read this.
I frequently rail about the special, unique, and important generation Mr. Rogers aided in creating. I am not a fan of the modern concept of individuality, in my opinion it is a sick and grim outlook that is perpetuating stagnation and allowing us to pat ourselves on the back for really accomplishing nothing. I do not consider myself to be any sort of special gift to mankind, I am a human.
I was the first type of kid he talks about, growing up. Awkward and unsure how to take praise that seemed unfounded... but as the years went on, I wove those baffled moments into a my super hero cape that masked my own insecurity. Slowly, tough bitch was born, I walked around smug and arrogant. If you didn't like me that was your problem, I pretended not to care. And that attitude became so second nature to me I did not even realize it WASN'T ME. I totally bought into the "this is me, take it or leave it" power-trip.
I can see that this was all a part of that crazy web of self defense I crafted for myself. It goes way, way, way, back to the little girl inside me that is desperate to come out. To be vulnerable, the little girl that wants to take the complement, the little girl that wants to be praised. That little kindergartener that just wants to play in the finger paints with all the other little girls. And even now, as I become more aware of her, as I get to know her, STILL, I diminish her. Still, I tell her that this is a silly song and dance. STILL I tell her that she needs to get over herself. I sit in silence and I judge that little girl. She's five and full of innocence, and I cannot help but to fill her little head full of doubt.
She wants to be friends. She frequently approaches me, with her sweet smile and wonder in her eyes, and I shoot her an angry glare and I chase her off. I tell her I don't have time for her stupid little games, and the wonder in her eyes dissipates, and they well up with tears.
Stop crying little girl! I shout at her.
It scares her. She runs off into the distance and I don't see her for a while. I wonder where she went... I worry that I may have scared her off permanently. I feel bad for making her cry. I start looking for her. And at some point, she re-surfaces...Eventually, I find her, playing in the deep forests of my mind.
As I approach her I can see she is happily nestled into her own world of imagination. She's sitting alone in the clearing of a meadow, in her little white dress, freshly pressed and pooled around her, her copper colored locks seemingly set ablaze from the sun filtering through the trees. She looks up at me as I approach her, eyes, crystal blue, once again shining brightly with wonder. She smiles and reaches up to grab my hand.
Come on, she says, lets go for a walk...
Her innocence, her trust, her sweet smile, that twinkle of wonder in her eyes. It's all quite enchanting as we walk hand in hand in the forest. She points out pebbles and sticks... leaves and insects... each one a more astonishing find then the next. Everything seems so illuminated through her eyes. And the further we walk, the more I begin to see it too. The raw beauty overtakes me, and for a moment... or an eternity... it's not me and the little girl anymore, it's just me. Me in the crisp white dress. Me with eyes full of wonder, locks ablaze, innocence abounding, and then... something startles me. I jump back, my heart racing, I glare at the little girl...
Where have you taken me? I snarl.
She stammers to reply, but before she can, she vanishes. Back into the thick of the forest... and I am left standing there stunned and I wonder...maybe that little girl is onto something.
I frequently rail about the special, unique, and important generation Mr. Rogers aided in creating. I am not a fan of the modern concept of individuality, in my opinion it is a sick and grim outlook that is perpetuating stagnation and allowing us to pat ourselves on the back for really accomplishing nothing. I do not consider myself to be any sort of special gift to mankind, I am a human.
I was the first type of kid he talks about, growing up. Awkward and unsure how to take praise that seemed unfounded... but as the years went on, I wove those baffled moments into a my super hero cape that masked my own insecurity. Slowly, tough bitch was born, I walked around smug and arrogant. If you didn't like me that was your problem, I pretended not to care. And that attitude became so second nature to me I did not even realize it WASN'T ME. I totally bought into the "this is me, take it or leave it" power-trip.
I can see that this was all a part of that crazy web of self defense I crafted for myself. It goes way, way, way, back to the little girl inside me that is desperate to come out. To be vulnerable, the little girl that wants to take the complement, the little girl that wants to be praised. That little kindergartener that just wants to play in the finger paints with all the other little girls. And even now, as I become more aware of her, as I get to know her, STILL, I diminish her. Still, I tell her that this is a silly song and dance. STILL I tell her that she needs to get over herself. I sit in silence and I judge that little girl. She's five and full of innocence, and I cannot help but to fill her little head full of doubt.
She wants to be friends. She frequently approaches me, with her sweet smile and wonder in her eyes, and I shoot her an angry glare and I chase her off. I tell her I don't have time for her stupid little games, and the wonder in her eyes dissipates, and they well up with tears.
Stop crying little girl! I shout at her.
It scares her. She runs off into the distance and I don't see her for a while. I wonder where she went... I worry that I may have scared her off permanently. I feel bad for making her cry. I start looking for her. And at some point, she re-surfaces...Eventually, I find her, playing in the deep forests of my mind.
As I approach her I can see she is happily nestled into her own world of imagination. She's sitting alone in the clearing of a meadow, in her little white dress, freshly pressed and pooled around her, her copper colored locks seemingly set ablaze from the sun filtering through the trees. She looks up at me as I approach her, eyes, crystal blue, once again shining brightly with wonder. She smiles and reaches up to grab my hand.
Come on, she says, lets go for a walk...
Her innocence, her trust, her sweet smile, that twinkle of wonder in her eyes. It's all quite enchanting as we walk hand in hand in the forest. She points out pebbles and sticks... leaves and insects... each one a more astonishing find then the next. Everything seems so illuminated through her eyes. And the further we walk, the more I begin to see it too. The raw beauty overtakes me, and for a moment... or an eternity... it's not me and the little girl anymore, it's just me. Me in the crisp white dress. Me with eyes full of wonder, locks ablaze, innocence abounding, and then... something startles me. I jump back, my heart racing, I glare at the little girl...
Where have you taken me? I snarl.
She stammers to reply, but before she can, she vanishes. Back into the thick of the forest... and I am left standing there stunned and I wonder...maybe that little girl is onto something.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Wanted
Sleeplessness engulfs me when my mind goes on the run. Thoughts speed through my mind at a ferocious pace, one I am scarcely able to keep up with. In those adrenaline fed moments, as the chase ramps up in my brain, I want to be able to sit down and hammer it all out...to strike a deal with my captures and vomit up whatever venom is pulsing through my veins, and I don't care what form it takes... words on paper, conversations, tears, hysteria, whatever. But the bargaining chip of self expression was abandoned at the scene of the crime, and I am over taken by this fierce inability to concentrate, even if I knew what I wanted to say, the words to articulate myself elude me; making talking damned near impossible. Forgetting what sparked the chase before I've reach it's end point. Wasting loads of time retracing the mental footsteps as my mind spins around it's hamster wheel, searching desperately for the clue that will proclaim my innocence.
Being on the run can get pretty lonely at times. There's an undeniable hunger for human connection, but it seems as though no matter how much I yearn for it I cannot manifest it. An urgency to both connect and disconnect at once. Like a fucking junkie whose just shot their very last morsel of dope, now high and searching desperately for the next hit... In times of even a little more mental clarity I can recognize this as the game my monkey mind plays with me, and that it persists for only as long as I'll allow it...
Everything seems so scattered and I fear I will never make sense of anything when I am in the middle of those marathon mental quests. Somewhere in the pursuit, the scene changes. Atop my bench I sit, in solemn judgement of myself as I hold court... what the fuck is wrong with you?! Judge, jury and executioner. The burden of proof is on me, each side presents it's case:
The jaded prosecutor shouts-
"The evidence is clear! LOOK at all this PRODUCTIVE time being wasted... an extra 6-8 hours a day...the defendant could be accomplishing things."
And the bleeding heart defense fires back- "not all productivity can be measured with linear and tangible parameters."
Witnesses are called, experts weigh in, and one by one, they are all consequently discredited.
And so, the trial trudges on for days. As does the self imposed gag order. And things get messy. Each side is thoroughly convincing. But all the evidence is circumstantial. When both sides have exhausted their arguments, the jury is dismissed to deliberate my fate.
Truth is, productivity comes in many, many, forms. Sometimes it looks the way I think it should... in the form of measurable gains at work, or a clean house, or some beautiful bit of creativity. But sometimes, it's disguised as 'wasted time'. Encrypted in long hours of seeming idleness... but in all actuality this is when the raw assembly begins. Below the surface of consciousness. Exhaustion strips away the guards I normally carry around... the ones that I don't even realize I have until they disappear in the long black stretches of night, somewhere between the high speed chase and subsequent hours spent in solitary. And in reality, there can be no deal cut. This goes one of two ways...and the jury comes back
Could it be? The jury is hung, a mistrial is declared. As I emerge, I feel the sun beat down on my skin, I gulp in the fresh air, and I walk away. I will most certainly have another trial, but today freedom is mine. I can't help but realize it's that point I was running from all along. There is no production. There is no progress. The crime is in murdering the present with the past and the future.
Being on the run can get pretty lonely at times. There's an undeniable hunger for human connection, but it seems as though no matter how much I yearn for it I cannot manifest it. An urgency to both connect and disconnect at once. Like a fucking junkie whose just shot their very last morsel of dope, now high and searching desperately for the next hit... In times of even a little more mental clarity I can recognize this as the game my monkey mind plays with me, and that it persists for only as long as I'll allow it...
Everything seems so scattered and I fear I will never make sense of anything when I am in the middle of those marathon mental quests. Somewhere in the pursuit, the scene changes. Atop my bench I sit, in solemn judgement of myself as I hold court... what the fuck is wrong with you?! Judge, jury and executioner. The burden of proof is on me, each side presents it's case:
The jaded prosecutor shouts-
"The evidence is clear! LOOK at all this PRODUCTIVE time being wasted... an extra 6-8 hours a day...the defendant could be accomplishing things."
And the bleeding heart defense fires back- "not all productivity can be measured with linear and tangible parameters."
Witnesses are called, experts weigh in, and one by one, they are all consequently discredited.
And so, the trial trudges on for days. As does the self imposed gag order. And things get messy. Each side is thoroughly convincing. But all the evidence is circumstantial. When both sides have exhausted their arguments, the jury is dismissed to deliberate my fate.
Truth is, productivity comes in many, many, forms. Sometimes it looks the way I think it should... in the form of measurable gains at work, or a clean house, or some beautiful bit of creativity. But sometimes, it's disguised as 'wasted time'. Encrypted in long hours of seeming idleness... but in all actuality this is when the raw assembly begins. Below the surface of consciousness. Exhaustion strips away the guards I normally carry around... the ones that I don't even realize I have until they disappear in the long black stretches of night, somewhere between the high speed chase and subsequent hours spent in solitary. And in reality, there can be no deal cut. This goes one of two ways...and the jury comes back
Could it be? The jury is hung, a mistrial is declared. As I emerge, I feel the sun beat down on my skin, I gulp in the fresh air, and I walk away. I will most certainly have another trial, but today freedom is mine. I can't help but realize it's that point I was running from all along. There is no production. There is no progress. The crime is in murdering the present with the past and the future.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Pulse
Part of me wants so desperately to rid myself of that hollow, empty, loneliness that lurks in the deep pockets of my consciousness. But I am also aware of the need to honor all of the fragments that form who I am. I know they all have to do with a frame I built long, long ago. Crafted partially out of cultural and social constructs, partly out of a subconscious story I've been telling myself most of my life, which makes it all seem so tough to dismantle.
Each time I experience another genuine glimmer of myself, I like it... which is why I am confounded as to why it appears to be such a struggle to pull those authentic pieces of myself to the surface. Lately, I am recognizing more of the ways in which I hide those parts of me. I guess maybe hiding is the wrong word... maybe those pieces are shrouded or skewed, hiding under layers of carefully contrived boobie traps. Luckily, my consciousness allows for a tiny few rays of light to filter through my cracks... so even when the innocent, frightened, little girl I sometimes refuse to acknowledge, retreats to what's left of her partially dismantled wonder wall, my soul tribe members develop an extraction plan and dispatch a search party. Upon emerging, I am able to look back and survey the progress. Each time I revisit what used to be the fortress of my defenses, I dismantle yet another piece of that crumbled skeleton and further the rebuild which is my new frame.
I would have never guessed this process to be so paradoxical. I am constantly wrecking to re-build, dismantling to re-assemble, and retreating to emerge. While I hate those uncomfortable stretches that accompany inner expansion, I love them at the same time. I am fairly certain that nothing will ever be crystal clear, but I am also pretty sure that I do not I want it to be... I do know that these awarenesses are not to be taken for granted. They are sacred in a way I cannot begin to articulate. It is vital that I extend myself that same grace I so freely give others... I need to remember that the same facets that draw me to the souls of others- those cracks and imperfections, those little intricacies that can only be truly appreciated close up, those elements of a person's composition that speak to us on an inarticulate and intangible level- are precisely what make up the authentic self, and therefore, authenticity is no more complicated than breathing-and it is the very ACT of covering all that up that robs the world of the sublime and exquisite beauty that is this human experience.
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Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Bats in the Belfry
I read this bit of prose a few weeks back that beautifully articulates
what consciousness looks like, it made such an impression I searched it
again today and found another version with a response. If you've not yet read this-it's quite
lovely- Date an Illiterate Girl
. How fantastical it is to stumble across things that remind me that
there are other people experiencing similar ripples in their
consciousness... and further, that there are others besides myself who
not only appreciate that but pine for it as well...
Consciousness is tough. It's puzzling and elusive, it's slippery and subtle and transient...And it is something our culture conditions us to avoid... whereas I may experience a concious person as if they are illuminated, others view them as crazy; depending upon which end of the consciousness spectrum one may fall... I spent a majority of my early 20's struggling on the other end of that spectrum, trying desperately to swallow that subordination elixir. The more I attempted to ingest it the more noxious it became to me. At some point I finally gave up my daily dosage, but let me tell ya, the half life on that shit is fucking fierce! The point is, I get that those who spend a majority of their time stuck in the sticky web of cultural indoctrination have been trained to see anything outside their own periphery as crazy... think about it. Our society has made a billion dollar industry out of treating and 'fixing' those 'poor souls' that feel too deeply. There is a pill for being too anything... too sad, too happy, too anxious... Our culture is one that demands uniformity... uniformity of thought, uniformity of action...and if we step out of line, event slightly, there are cultural norms in place to shame us back into obedience. This too I've experienced first hand... it's partially what I was attempting to communicate in Axiom... although I've yet to have the vocabulary to articulate it- it is becoming clearer to me everyday...
So as I am grappling for the language to get all these 'nonsensical' thoughts and concepts out of my head or at least strung together in some way my own mind can make sense of it, this morning I stumble across this post- YOU NEED TO GO AFTER THE THINGS YOU WANT, and I gotta say...after reading that, what I am experiencing is so profoundly visceral- my heart is racing, my hands are shaking, my thoughts are going a million miles a minute... For a moment I thought to myself- 'fuck, I really ought to trade my tin foil hat in for one made of Kevlar!' I swear, reading that was as if someone plucked thoughts from my brain... as coincidental as it may seem, I don't believe in coincidences...
For weeks I have been trying to muster the courage to talk to him... some days it seems as though the universe has dropped every single solitary hint to me...I've struggled to excuse it away... because of fear... fear of looking silly...fear of being vulnerable... there is a part of me that wants to walk right into his shop and tell him that not only do I read, but I write, and I do them both, often. And then that little voice shouts from the back of my head- Absolutely not, no sane person walks up to a dude whose practically a stranger and says 'hey, you don't know me, but your facebook posts make me want to know you...' And so I go on, trying to ignore this weird connection that spurred from something so benign...and just as it seems I have sufficiently stifled it, something else pops up... I mean who strikes up a conversation with 'I like the way you think'? How does that go exactly? Do I walk into his shop? Do I take Harvey Milk's advice? I mean, that IS what I want, but what scares me is not knowing what the reaction will be...I believe the shift I have been feeling for a while is close, really close, or maybe already happening, and that is why the vocabulary is starting to come to me. And maybe that's why he's entered my consciousness? Or maybe I have become conscious enough to see it more than stifle it.
I read something the other day about how when you feel lost it is time to step out of your comfort zone and find new meaning... what is our existence except for a long string of attempts to make meaning? Over the weekend.... I had a rather eye opening conversation about meaning making and consciousness with a friend She happens to be in a different stage than I... she is trying to make meaning out of the whole of her life, while I am still attempting to make meaning out of the this moment... but the principal is the same, we talked about what is to experience meaning making with a conscious lens, and what that does to one's thought process. These are the conversations I savor... they are the tough ones, the ones where I am forced to take it a step or two further than I thought possible... the ones that stretch the complexities that I thought myself capable of... the ones that challenge me to dig a little deeper, that edge me closer to the next ledge I will have to leap from in order to grow.
It helps immensely to talk about consciousness with people...I find myself craving more interactions like this. I am drawn to those people who want to unpack their shit, who aren't afraid to attempt the daunting task of approaching that ledge... I fear the ledge, but more, I fear not taking the leap at all. Perhaps that's how my interest peaked... I gotta say, it's been an awfully long time since a person has intrigued enough to inch up to the ledge, peer over, and close my eyes for the leap....
Consciousness is tough. It's puzzling and elusive, it's slippery and subtle and transient...And it is something our culture conditions us to avoid... whereas I may experience a concious person as if they are illuminated, others view them as crazy; depending upon which end of the consciousness spectrum one may fall... I spent a majority of my early 20's struggling on the other end of that spectrum, trying desperately to swallow that subordination elixir. The more I attempted to ingest it the more noxious it became to me. At some point I finally gave up my daily dosage, but let me tell ya, the half life on that shit is fucking fierce! The point is, I get that those who spend a majority of their time stuck in the sticky web of cultural indoctrination have been trained to see anything outside their own periphery as crazy... think about it. Our society has made a billion dollar industry out of treating and 'fixing' those 'poor souls' that feel too deeply. There is a pill for being too anything... too sad, too happy, too anxious... Our culture is one that demands uniformity... uniformity of thought, uniformity of action...and if we step out of line, event slightly, there are cultural norms in place to shame us back into obedience. This too I've experienced first hand... it's partially what I was attempting to communicate in Axiom... although I've yet to have the vocabulary to articulate it- it is becoming clearer to me everyday...
So as I am grappling for the language to get all these 'nonsensical' thoughts and concepts out of my head or at least strung together in some way my own mind can make sense of it, this morning I stumble across this post- YOU NEED TO GO AFTER THE THINGS YOU WANT, and I gotta say...after reading that, what I am experiencing is so profoundly visceral- my heart is racing, my hands are shaking, my thoughts are going a million miles a minute... For a moment I thought to myself- 'fuck, I really ought to trade my tin foil hat in for one made of Kevlar!' I swear, reading that was as if someone plucked thoughts from my brain... as coincidental as it may seem, I don't believe in coincidences...
For weeks I have been trying to muster the courage to talk to him... some days it seems as though the universe has dropped every single solitary hint to me...I've struggled to excuse it away... because of fear... fear of looking silly...fear of being vulnerable... there is a part of me that wants to walk right into his shop and tell him that not only do I read, but I write, and I do them both, often. And then that little voice shouts from the back of my head- Absolutely not, no sane person walks up to a dude whose practically a stranger and says 'hey, you don't know me, but your facebook posts make me want to know you...' And so I go on, trying to ignore this weird connection that spurred from something so benign...and just as it seems I have sufficiently stifled it, something else pops up... I mean who strikes up a conversation with 'I like the way you think'? How does that go exactly? Do I walk into his shop? Do I take Harvey Milk's advice? I mean, that IS what I want, but what scares me is not knowing what the reaction will be...I believe the shift I have been feeling for a while is close, really close, or maybe already happening, and that is why the vocabulary is starting to come to me. And maybe that's why he's entered my consciousness? Or maybe I have become conscious enough to see it more than stifle it.
I read something the other day about how when you feel lost it is time to step out of your comfort zone and find new meaning... what is our existence except for a long string of attempts to make meaning? Over the weekend.... I had a rather eye opening conversation about meaning making and consciousness with a friend She happens to be in a different stage than I... she is trying to make meaning out of the whole of her life, while I am still attempting to make meaning out of the this moment... but the principal is the same, we talked about what is to experience meaning making with a conscious lens, and what that does to one's thought process. These are the conversations I savor... they are the tough ones, the ones where I am forced to take it a step or two further than I thought possible... the ones that stretch the complexities that I thought myself capable of... the ones that challenge me to dig a little deeper, that edge me closer to the next ledge I will have to leap from in order to grow.
It helps immensely to talk about consciousness with people...I find myself craving more interactions like this. I am drawn to those people who want to unpack their shit, who aren't afraid to attempt the daunting task of approaching that ledge... I fear the ledge, but more, I fear not taking the leap at all. Perhaps that's how my interest peaked... I gotta say, it's been an awfully long time since a person has intrigued enough to inch up to the ledge, peer over, and close my eyes for the leap....
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Axiom
So last week, I am sitting at my desk at work, quietly pounding away at whatever mundane task was in front of me at the moment, and I hear the ping that says I have a new email. I click from one monitor to the other and open it, it's from my HS best friend, well... I should say we have been best friends since high school, because we are still best friends today. Anyway, I open the email and all it say is :
Your mom just told me that I needed to find you a boyfriend
I am instantly pissed. I am mad because I have been consistently hearing from friends and friends of friends that my mother is talking about my life to them. I'm mad because it seems like everyone wants to put everyone else in a fucking box... I get defensive when people, (mainly my mother, but really anyone) try to shove me in some aphoristic box I do not fit it. You know, like the kind where you're supposed to be partnered up, married off and be at least half way through producing heirs by the time you're 25 or some shit. I missed that deadline years ago, in fact, it's still hanging in my mother's closet in the form of a super expensive, super fucking beautiful, never been worn, Italian wedding dress. And most days, not only am I good with that, but I am pretty happy with where I am and the experiences I have had. But some days, those societal boxes get to be a little crushing, ya know?
So while I sit at my desk with all the fuck yous and how dare yous swirling around in my head, this pops up in my bookface feed:
Don't you hate when someone asks if you have a boyfriend, and you say "no," and they get all googly-eyed and say, "WHATT?? WHY NOT?!???" like it was the the most absurd thing they've ever heard. What is that even supposed to mean? Is this a compliment, or are they judging me for being single and stoked? I'm so confused by people sometimes. No, strike that. I'm so confused by people ALL the time.
And my anger instantly melts into ferocious laughter. After some banter back and forth on that thread, she responds with this:
I also wonder if they think good guys grow on trees or something, as if I've chosen not to find the perfect male specimen who apparently is available immediately. Or like I'm too lazy to drive down to the boyfriend store and pick up the latest and greatest. And the only way to be happy is to have a boyfriend, so obviously I'm psycho.
At this point I am laughing at the humor in her posts, but also having a good laugh at myself. Why do I let people get to me? I know that I am right where I need to be, and I know how important it is to stay true to myself, even if that means other people are uncomfortable. So I poke fun at the entire situation on my own bookface and shrug it off. In the meantime, I am in the middle of composing Amalgamation which was proving harder and harder to write by the minute, it started out super free flowing, but as is the case with most of my posts, they generally take a few days to write, edit, and finally post, and those final edits were tough. Like that was the hardest post I have had to edit in a long, long, time. It probably went through three different rewrites and in the end it seemed more discombobulated and dis-jointed then ever. I finally just gave up and posted it, figuring the reasons would become clear to me at some point.
And so, last night I read this article: Top 5 deathbed regrets and low and behold, what's number one on the list?
I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
Truer words have never been spoken, me thinks. Ya see, I try very hard to live my life with some amount of personal integrity (I am in no way saying that I am a saint, or that I never make bad decisions, for fucks sakes, people, I am human), really what this means to me is that I do not compromise on certain things- in my life that has meant a lot of different things. It meant that even though I could have chosen the cheaper faster route out of college, I opted for way more time and effort (and debt) to study what I was truly passionate about (even though I have never and may never work in that 'field') It has meant that even though I could make more $ working for some corporation, with higher pay, perks, insurance, paid time off... all the 'luxuries' other people snap jobs up for, I have chosen to work multiple jobs for smaller, independent and or non-prof outfits doing things I truly believe in. It has meant that I stopped the wedding train. After the engagement party. After the expensive Italian dress was purchased. After the reception hall was booked.
It means that yes, indeed I am sometimes lonely because I won't wrap myself up in a relationship for the sake of being in a relationship. It means that I frequently take the scenic route, the road less traveled, the one that is NEVER on GPS. And yes, some days, even I question the validity of my path. But then I read an article like the one above, and my self assured-ness is restored. What am I getting at? Well, I guess the point is (more for me than anyone else), that I think we can all occasionally use a reminder that despite the boxes and categories that society seems relentless in presenting, and even though it's tough sometimes, even though it can be lonely, confusing, and tiring; it can also be challenging, rewarding, refreshing, eye opening, and BRILLIANT! In the end, I KNOW that I am living a life that is truest to me, which, in my mind, is the ultimate pay off.
"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Your mom just told me that I needed to find you a boyfriend
I am instantly pissed. I am mad because I have been consistently hearing from friends and friends of friends that my mother is talking about my life to them. I'm mad because it seems like everyone wants to put everyone else in a fucking box... I get defensive when people, (mainly my mother, but really anyone) try to shove me in some aphoristic box I do not fit it. You know, like the kind where you're supposed to be partnered up, married off and be at least half way through producing heirs by the time you're 25 or some shit. I missed that deadline years ago, in fact, it's still hanging in my mother's closet in the form of a super expensive, super fucking beautiful, never been worn, Italian wedding dress. And most days, not only am I good with that, but I am pretty happy with where I am and the experiences I have had. But some days, those societal boxes get to be a little crushing, ya know?
So while I sit at my desk with all the fuck yous and how dare yous swirling around in my head, this pops up in my bookface feed:
Don't you hate when someone asks if you have a boyfriend, and you say "no," and they get all googly-eyed and say, "WHATT?? WHY NOT?!???" like it was the the most absurd thing they've ever heard. What is that even supposed to mean? Is this a compliment, or are they judging me for being single and stoked? I'm so confused by people sometimes. No, strike that. I'm so confused by people ALL the time.
And my anger instantly melts into ferocious laughter. After some banter back and forth on that thread, she responds with this:
I also wonder if they think good guys grow on trees or something, as if I've chosen not to find the perfect male specimen who apparently is available immediately. Or like I'm too lazy to drive down to the boyfriend store and pick up the latest and greatest. And the only way to be happy is to have a boyfriend, so obviously I'm psycho.
At this point I am laughing at the humor in her posts, but also having a good laugh at myself. Why do I let people get to me? I know that I am right where I need to be, and I know how important it is to stay true to myself, even if that means other people are uncomfortable. So I poke fun at the entire situation on my own bookface and shrug it off. In the meantime, I am in the middle of composing Amalgamation which was proving harder and harder to write by the minute, it started out super free flowing, but as is the case with most of my posts, they generally take a few days to write, edit, and finally post, and those final edits were tough. Like that was the hardest post I have had to edit in a long, long, time. It probably went through three different rewrites and in the end it seemed more discombobulated and dis-jointed then ever. I finally just gave up and posted it, figuring the reasons would become clear to me at some point.
And so, last night I read this article: Top 5 deathbed regrets and low and behold, what's number one on the list?
I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
Truer words have never been spoken, me thinks. Ya see, I try very hard to live my life with some amount of personal integrity (I am in no way saying that I am a saint, or that I never make bad decisions, for fucks sakes, people, I am human), really what this means to me is that I do not compromise on certain things- in my life that has meant a lot of different things. It meant that even though I could have chosen the cheaper faster route out of college, I opted for way more time and effort (and debt) to study what I was truly passionate about (even though I have never and may never work in that 'field') It has meant that even though I could make more $ working for some corporation, with higher pay, perks, insurance, paid time off... all the 'luxuries' other people snap jobs up for, I have chosen to work multiple jobs for smaller, independent and or non-prof outfits doing things I truly believe in. It has meant that I stopped the wedding train. After the engagement party. After the expensive Italian dress was purchased. After the reception hall was booked.
It means that yes, indeed I am sometimes lonely because I won't wrap myself up in a relationship for the sake of being in a relationship. It means that I frequently take the scenic route, the road less traveled, the one that is NEVER on GPS. And yes, some days, even I question the validity of my path. But then I read an article like the one above, and my self assured-ness is restored. What am I getting at? Well, I guess the point is (more for me than anyone else), that I think we can all occasionally use a reminder that despite the boxes and categories that society seems relentless in presenting, and even though it's tough sometimes, even though it can be lonely, confusing, and tiring; it can also be challenging, rewarding, refreshing, eye opening, and BRILLIANT! In the end, I KNOW that I am living a life that is truest to me, which, in my mind, is the ultimate pay off.
"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me. - See more at: http://www.karenstan.net/2013/11/11/nurse-reveals-top-5-regrets-people-make-deathbed/#sthash.LF9AyCTS.dpuf
I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me. - See more at: http://www.karenstan.net/2013/11/11/nurse-reveals-top-5-regrets-people-make-deathbed/#sthash.LF9AyCTS.dpuf
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