Category : SOOC
My life feels upside down. Everything about it feels disorienting. What I thought was (true) North, is suddenly not. I feel my emotions with enormous intensity, yet I feel somehow outside myself, watching me and the world around as if from above. I’m not sure what is ground. I can’t find my footing.
I’ve still got love on the brain. It’s on my lips. In my heart. It’s swirling through the very core of me. I’m channeling absolutely all the love I can muster right now. Embracing love as a practice. I’m sending out all the love I have ever felt, in one singular direction. Daily. Hourly. Actually, breath by breath. It is all I can think to do.
Happy 2015, friends. I’ve got love on the brain. No, “love” is not my one word for the year, yet it’s palpable for me as this new year begins. I’m reflecting on the opportunity we have every day, in each of our relationships, to choose love. Although I’m not one for making new year’s resolutions per se (I do set intentions for the year ahead), I’d like to dedicate myself to choosing love. I want to engage in love as a living, breathing entity that must be cared for and tended to. I want to embrace love as a practice.
“Much has been said about the eternal and untouchable nature of love, its tidal ungovernable forces and its emergence from beyond the ordinary, but love may find its fullest, most imagined and most courageous form when it leaves the abstractions and safety of the timeless, the eternal and the untouchable to make its promises amidst the fears, vulnerabilities and disappearances of our difficult, touchable and time bound world. To love and to witness love in the face of possible loss and to find the mystery of love’s promise in the shadow of that loss, in the shadow of the ordinary and in the shadow of our own inevitable disappearance may be where the eternal source of all of our origins stands most fully in awe of the consequences of everything it has set in motion.” –David Whyte
I’ve been swirling for the past few weeks. Most days have felt like a struggle. Getting out of bed has been difficult. Pushing through the day has required inordinate effort. I’ve been looking forward to the end of the day when I can come home, change into my pajamas, and pour a glass of wine, with far too much gleeful anticipation.
I’m having tumultuous dreams and flashback images of my mother. A dear friend’s wife died, bringing up all of the feelings associated with the knowledge that friends my age shouldn’t be dying and that I, too, will die. My tendencies toward existential crisis lie just below the surface, and needless to say, have been spilling over. My self-efficacy regarding writing a memoir, telling my story and telling it well, has been dangerously circling the drain. Oh, and Mercury was in retrograde. I can’t see the forest for the trees.
I have been stuck. In a fragile, emotional, crying-three-times-a-day funk. For a few weeks. But I’m coming out of it. I’m clawing my way to the surface. I have to. I need to see the big picture. I need to remember that life is short and I will die, and to use that knowledge to embrace the life I have rather than retreat from it. I need to remember that revisiting my past opens old doors, and that dreams and flashbacks are part of the process. I need to remember that I’ve never written a memoir before, that this is all new territory for me, and that my self-efficacy will grow as I keep writing.
Yes, I’m shaking the devil off. Casting off the stuck-ness. Starting to glimpse the forest again.