… and the places you will stay.
There’s nothing like hope to expose the gaping hole you’ve been ignoring in some terribly exposed and obvious place on your body.
I think we’re all a bit conditioned to submit our case for cause to whatever particular thing is happening at the time. I’ve related awful dips and spectacular rises in my life to people, places and things that likely were only coincidentally available at the time and have very little to actually do with changes that occurred for me.
I often wish I had a dimmer in place of what feels like an emotional on and off switch. It’s as if I can only feel everything or nothing at all, and as I close back down and toss the switch to “off” again I can’t help but do it with some melancholy.
My life has to change, it can’t be this. The past few weeks have woken me up, and reminded me of who I was before I let it all get clouded and settled under layers of shit.
I’d seen glimpses occasionally over the past 2 or 3 years when I’d sit down with an old friend, or find myself in the company of someone new. I didn’t know what to make of it, though. Didn’t know what to think of the words and the gestures that were coming out of my little body — the way my laugh really sounded, the way it felt to lean into my past and taste it like it was just yesterday I’d left it behind.
And the new and the old, it all feels delightful and beautiful to me again. But it’s also crushing and decimating in its way because with those memories, with the knowledge that my heart is once again beating… comes feelings I am entirely unprepared for that I have little ability to coordinate with any skill or organization.
I find my mind wandering to impossibilities, relating my racing thoughts to things that can’t hold the weight. I’ve found a table made of plywood, topped it with a fancy veneer and thought it might look nice with an anvil on top of it, for example.
The veneer is pretty, but it has no real use. And the plywood is solid, tangible in it’s way, it certainly exists… but for my purpose? Well, it won’t sail any oceans… that’s for sure.
So, they haven’t made a dimmer for my impulses, no taper for my excitement, no pad for my thoughts. I’m just here, bothered, wound entirely tighter than is necessarily, a finger on the button preparing for the emergency stop.
Because something has to change, but it’s really got nothing to do with you.