Today is Tuesday. It’s snowing. I think my wisdom teeth have calmed down on coming in and I have a moment to really assess all the other stuff that I’ve been weathering lately.
I went to New Hampshire this past weekend. To see Ani. And in the grand scheme, that is not a big deal. But to me, it was. And is. And I respect the weight of what I did.
For me, going to work daily can be a steep ask. I have had days where I get to the office, sit in the parking lot and cry for an hour. Just cos it’s the feeling of the moment. I do it at supermarkets. I’m great at parties.
The time I think it happens the least is when I am lilly-pad jumping. When I have work, then a concert, then shopping, then a drop-off, then a show, then an acceptance of something. Those times, where I am on one stone about to jump to the next, I cannot cry. There is no time. So when I am busy - I feel happy, because there is no time to feel sad. When I stop and take time for myself, my mood gets cloudy. I retreat and hide and hibernate, and I close off from everyone. My phone goes off for days.
I didn’t really mean to make this a depressing post. It’s actually supposed to be uplifting (I told you, i’m great at parties).
I sat in that theater, and watched probably my biggest hero of my world, perform and bring together a group of strangers and she played songs I have loved and never heard live, and said things in new ways and shined light on old things. I cried. It was a beautiful, liberating show, and I loved every fucking second of it.
I got a hotel by myself. I rode elevators by myself. I parked in new parking lots and walked past buskers at 11 at night in a town I don’t know. This all felt surreal but right. And this is probably normal for most of you reading this - but for me, this is not normal. This has been a struggle for a long time for me.
I had the wherewithal to organize a trip, by myself, and go do something, by myself, in a place I’ve never been and don’t know. A year ago, this would have been in impossible task. A month ago, even. Instead of caution, I chose to jump on my lily pads and just do it. I survived. An accomplishment. I got home on Sunday, and collapsed and slept. I was simply exhausted and my body made itself sleep, but I got no relief. I wanted to get up and go again.
So. Maybe. Maybe I learn from this, that when I want to dip deep in the paint bucket of emotion and let my feelings run amok, I stop jumping and I settle and observe. When I want to cultivate and collect and experience, I jump.
I get to work on Monday morning and pull the unicorn calendar. This calendar has a habit of telling the future. There’s a fortune-cookie style saying on every day. Always eerily significant. My sister asked me on Sunday about planning a trip to Seattle, and the Saturday/Sunday page of the calendar read “Yes, a plane ticket across the country, or even the world, is the perfect impulse buy. Do it.”
I laughed, and tore that one off, and then saw Monday’s: “Decide how much you really want it.”
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