I have always been a huge advocate for chasing dreams. I lived a decade of my life pushing for opportunities, believing that if there was something in the universe that belonged to me then I was going to, in the words of Jack McFarland from Will & Grace, “reach out, grab it, and swing on it till dawn.” And it’s served me well. On the surface. But it left me without a strong base to stand on. By last year, I had lived in 10 different apartments, in 6 different states, had a revolving door of roommates, owned nothing more than books and clothes because they were the easiest to move and had no healthy romantic entanglements to speak of. Don’t get me wrong, I regret nothing. My memory bank is filled with substance, fun and fulfillment. But I began to look around and wonder, is this something sustainable? Even if it were, is this making me happy? Why do I feel like something is missing? What good is living vibrantly if you have nowhere to recharge afterward?
I admit it. I have not and do not trust the universe or anyone else to present my dreams to me, nor do I expect them to; a quality that drives me to work myself to the bone but will not allow me to ask for help without feeling like an imposition. This quality makes me tired and has a lower ceiling of success. I will only get as far as my insecurities allow. For me, that is nowhere near where I’ve wanted to go. I turned 33, looked at my life, and said this is your ceiling. And it isn’t good enough.
You only regret what you choose not to know or do. So I decided to try something different. So different that my life would have no alternative but to break pattern. I decided to come back to Washington and sit still. That doesn’t mean I have been doing nothing, I don’t think I’d ever be able to be that idle. But I decided I would not move again until an opportunity found ME this time. Any big thing that has ever happened to me and made me truly happy has found me. I didn’t push or claw for it. It came to me and it was my job to be prepared for it. So that’s what I’ve been trying to do here: sit still and prepare.
Six months in and you know what I’ve found? Adulting sucks and sitting still is f**king scary. In the silences, all that you’ve avoided about yourself emerges from the dark corners where it’s been lying in wait. Any insecurity that you’ve held at bay surfaces and starts asking questions. You discover your anger and it come in the voice of Queen, “I want it all. And I want it now.” It resents that you always seem to have to choose. It resents that you cannot seem to figure out how to make money at what you love, take care of yourself, and be happy in your surroundings all at the same time. It resents that you always have to do it alone. It resents it to the point that it makes you mean. It screams “what is wrong with you that you cannot seem to manage comfort with adventure, stability with creativity.” I’ve discovered that I’m cruel to myself. And it takes its toll.
The first three months of my self-imposed stillness I gained 25 pounds. Twenty. Five. Yeah. Talk about a physical manifestation of inner fear. I lost all will to love myself because I didn’t know how to not push for change and movement. I work for a good company, with excellent perks and it pays enough to get me ahead of debt and bills. I am at the point I wanted to be at. My goal is in sight. That point of stability. And still…I am unhappy. Something is still missing. And panic sets in. I start looking for the out like I’ve always done. ANYTHING other than looking at myself. I begin to question my motives for this stillness. Suddenly that Zen meditation and preparedness has begun to look more like a one-legged beetle swimming frantically in a dirty swimming pool, paddling in circles going nowhere. Rough metaphor. But you get the idea. I’ve nearly hightailed it back a dozen times already. I may not have been blissfully happy in my old life but I knew how to do it. I knew what I’d get out of that.
Being here, I forget what I’m good at and I realize what I think of myself; not much. I see that I’ve overcompensated for years and continue to do so because I have a distaste for what I see as my flaws. I had believed that others judged me when instead it was me. And I have no idea how to rewire those beliefs. I have always been able to believe, unequivocally, in others but never truly in myself. It is a daunting and awful realization that despite what dreams I have had, I have never in fact believed myself capable or lucky enough to ever achieve them. I fought for them, fully, but only because I didn’t know what else to do. And now, I have looked at this move to WA as proof that I’ve given up. And I’m not ready. I feel older and uglier. And I am embarrassed by it. Those closest to me know that embarrassment and humiliation are two things that disgust me the most.
Now, now, before you spit nails at me for my idiocy, know that I am aware of it. But this is what happens in the stillness. This is what happens when you put someone like me in a tiny parameter and say, “I’ll be back soon” and not tell them how long “soon” will be. This is what happens when you quiet your life down and listen to yourself. I’ve always believed that being idle is a sign of weakness and laziness. Now I’m thinking there is bravery in the sitting still because you have to listen to what your soul is telling you, let it resonate, and then choose what to do about it. You have to deal with you.
I can choose to continue to let this stillness swallow me up. I can accept this monotony and mediocrity as a realized truth that is a decade old. OR I can get the f**k over myself and deal with me, myself and I. I can have faith that what is meant for me is on its way and it has the possibility of being even more beautiful than the opportunity before. It is not my job to say NO. It is my job to cultivate what and who I am so that when I say YES to what is mine, I can say it without hesitation or judgment. I can embrace it, build off of it, and know that I damn well deserve it. I can use this stillness as a place to learn all those things I’ve put off because I was too busy running from mediocrity. I can love myself that much.
So I bought myself a ukulele. Her name is Lula. And we are going to learn a song a week and remember why we love music.
So I write. I have five projects up in the ether that I’ve put off because I was “too busy” or “didn’t feel like it” or “it was faff anyway” or “I’m no writer.” And I’m going to do more with them than file them in a folder named “for sh**s and giggles.”
So I am signing up for horse-riding lessons. Because…well….because I can.
So I am training faithfully for my ½ marathon in October. Because if I don’t, I’ll die at mile 9. But also because I will love myself enough to have that discipline and healthiness. And it won’t be about weight or size. It will be about goals and dedication.
So I am going to seek help (in whatever form that is) to rewire my harshness towards myself. Because the last thing I want to be saying on my deathbed was the reason I didn’t get what I want was my fault.
I am going to get my own place. Because even though that commitment makes me sick to my stomach, it is just that, a commitment. And I’m not a quitter. I finish what I start. And I have to know what it is like to have space that is mine. I recognize that a space can go from haven to prison if you are unhappy in yourself. But I need to know if what was missing was a physical individual home. Then I can either let go of my old wandering ways, or let go of the need to be stationery.
And finally, I am publishing this blog for everyone to see because hiding from You is another way of hiding from myself. If no one knows my goals or dreams, than I don’t have to justify to anyone why I’m not living them. And that’s unacceptable. I am not one who enjoys to air out old laundry in front of people which I believe is normally a good trait. But there are times when hiding what you deem ugly about you holds you back from progress and freedom both creatively and spiritually. Honesty is extremely hard but lying to yourself is worse.
In sum, I’ve been feeling like a big fat failure. But I truly believe it is part of a phase. It’s part of dealing with the stillness. And no matter how uncomfortable or angry I get, I believe this is the right thing to do right now. Sometimes the universe has trouble finding you when you move too quickly. Dust may not settle on you but neither does the glitter. I want to be able to tell the difference between the dust which you shake off and the glitter which you bathe in. I believe stillness, for now, will provide that.
So I will finish this year out. Just being here. And maybe I’ll extend it. Maybe I won’t. Maybe that opportunity I’ve been praying for will get here tomorrow and I won’t have to worry about it. But until then, I’m going to stay here, preparing the crap outta this fine Tuesday, and do my best to put a little less into self-loathing and a little more into faith.
