Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won’t come in.” — Alan Alda
I read. I sleep. I dream. I live in a land where I used to be somebody else, but no more.
An old friend reaches out to tell me that’s OK; we’re always evolving. Trying to stuff so much of my old baggage into the new suitcase is time consuming and “futile.”
Maybe she’s right.
Who am I now? I do not know. I suppose this is OK. Your true self shows up when it is ready. Perhaps mine is not ready. Not yet.
A lot of us have trauma; too many. Things that we’ve seen or experienced personally; dreams that attack us when we are awake, nightmares that try to crunch through our ear canals while we sleep. If we let them, they can take away a lot. Like our authenticity. Our love of life. Our humor. If we let them.
My blood sugars remain high, though I am working with my endocrinologist on it, but still my head is fuzzy and when I’m asked to do something at work I pray that it’s something easy. I know that I can’t handle much else, or at least without being made to feel like a fool (I’ve been here 6 years, some things by now should just come easily).
I’m careful when I drive. I’m careful when I walk down the stairs. The diabetes has once again thrown me off the edge of this cliff; the one where I stand with my toes curled underneath me, feeling the sand and the brush and the rough rocks just waiting for me below.
I try again and again to get out of here– to get some reprieve from work and the doctor’s appointments. From the needle pricks and the blood and keeping count of pills (yesterday was 17) and numbers. I do small things for myself here and there that are supposed to add to self-care like massages and lunch with friends. I get enough sleep. I snuggle with my kitties. I went for a walk for the first time the other day in I don’t know how long.
It doesn’t work. Not really. The writing and the sharing keeps me from becoming totally isolated, but life is boring. Non-adventurous. Just waiting for something to happen. Something good. I soaked myself in a meditation last night that reminded me that my beliefs navigate my world, not the way other way around.
Maybe I need to find the adventure, instead of waiting for it to find me.
I long to jump off of this medical merry-go-round that I seem to be stuck on. It’s making me nauseous.
I have long, deep dreams about traveling. Shaking off my day-to-day life responsibilities and going to the beach. Don’t care if I need a sweatshirt. Don’t really care where it is. Just some sand, water, a blanket, and a book.
I long to put on my headphones and faze out the rest of the world. I would jump on a plane and maybe go see the red rocks of Sedona. Maybe squeeze myself into a crevice somewhere in a national park and watch the sun set without being afraid of seeing the dark.
Meditation reigns me in; it’s one of the few things these days that makes me feel still, like I’m not sliding right off the map. But still, I search for far-away places:
Seattle and Vancouver could be lovely. I could stay out with my friends who have neighborhood block parties and go sailing and we could get some good grub and pretend that none of this other stuff is happening, has happened.
I could go to Austin and swim in the rooftop pool at the South Congress hotel and finally drink a cocktail and find a good food truck covered with lights. I could play w/ A’s kids in the driveway with chalk and soccer goals and forget about where I’m from, in that moment.
I could go down to Miami and help my friend M forget about the hurricane, the cleanup and the disaster that her city now is. Instead we could go to the beach and rent bikes and eat Argentinian pastries on the boardwalk as the sun wakes up. We could make green juices and go for walks.
I could go all over– to Europe to eat pastries and wander museums, to have afternoon tea with the Queen, to shop on the Champs Elyse, stopping at the Musee De l’Orangerie for my fix of Monet water lilies. I could eat the best gelato in Florence and go visit my high school teacher in Arezzo. I could go to Fiji and sit on my own private veranda and jump into that crystal clear water whenever I want to. I could have somebody bring me drinks and pretend like I don’t have cancer. Or stomach issues. Or glaucoma. Or diabetes. Or massive fatigue. Or overwhelming depression.
I want to dip my toes in 7 mile beach; my favorite, the Cayman Islands. I want to float in that water forever, until the sun sets and you can’t see the little fishes swimming so carefully underneath you.
(So to recap: Pastries and the beach are calling).
I want to feel carefree. I want to believe that it is possible to feel carefree again.
I want to chuck it all– just bring SHL and a backpack and pretend, just for a while, that I’m just a normal girl, living an adventurous life, one without regret, and one with much peace.