I have this thing where I don't like uncertainty. I don't like the unknown (like most humans, I would imagine). I fight against it. Literally, I do everything in my power to know everything which, at the end of the day, just isn't a feasible task.
I've been working with my therapist to become more comfortable living in the gray areas and I like to think I've made a lot of progress. Still, there come times when the anxiety gnaws at me because I don't know what's going to happen to me. I don't trust myself and my ability to make decisions which is sort of silly since I've done a pretty good job so far.
I don't trust myself and I don't like change so the thought of my immediate world changing is stressful. More than stressful. It's can't-eat-lunch-I'm-going-to-be-sick stressful (still working with the therapist on that).
To counteract my fear, I try to hold on to the things I do know. I know this blog will continue to be. I know I love my animals and family and they love me. I know the sun will probably rise tomorrow. I know I will always love PSL.
I don't know where I'm going to be living this time next year. I don't know if I'll be at the same job. I don't know if I want those things to stay the same, but I also don't know if I want them to change. I'm a disaster, I know, but hey, I guess that's another thing I know.
Showing posts with label contemplations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label contemplations. Show all posts
The Wait Begins
A little less than 4 months, this detour started. For four months, I worked. I stressed and read until it was finally time to take the test. Like last time, there was lots of stress, lots of reading, lots of neglecting TV shows I wanted to watch. Now it's the waiting part. Sitting. Looking for a job and trying not to replay the exam over and over and dwell on what went right and what went wrong.
That's the problem with a lot of time. It can either be a good time or a bad time, depending on your mood and what you make of it. This morning, I read this on Humans of New York:
I think that's the perfect way to look at the next few days, weeks, or however long this time off lasts.
That's the problem with a lot of time. It can either be a good time or a bad time, depending on your mood and what you make of it. This morning, I read this on Humans of New York:
"Time off is a space where you allow things to happen other than the known.”
I think that's the perfect way to look at the next few days, weeks, or however long this time off lasts.
What's the Point of Blogging?
It came as kind of a blow to me. My first thought was, "But no! I'm just now starting to meet these super interesting people and I love reading about the things that are important to them." I'd be pretty bummed if all of the blogs I read just up and vanished. Where else do you see people talking so openly and passionately about the things that matter to them?
Then I thought, maybe some kinds of blogging are dead but community-based and community-minded blogging isn't. And hopefully it never will be. I have met so many people from all over the world I know I wouldn't have met otherwise through this blog. On a daily basis, I get to learn about how lives are across the oceans. I see coats and shoes I might have missed in my own online shopping. I learn crafts. I pick up recipes. Having access to blogs is like having access to a repository of people who know things and who like sharing what they know. And that's awesome.
I know blogging is sometimes likened to shouting, "Hey look at me! Look at what I have to say!" to which I respond, what's wrong with that? What piece of literature out there exists for a purpose other than "Hey look at me! Look at what I have to say!" Even the seminal works like Frankenstein, 1984, and Great Expectations exist because someone had something to say.* Writing is writing. Ideas are ideas. And yeah, maybe some blogs are up to their metaphorical eyeballs in RStyle links or are so carefully curated, they give the Louvre a run for its money, but again, so what? Issues of non-disclosure, tax, etc. aside, it's just a more prettily packaged Amazon and I, for one, really like Amazon.
And this whole train of thought got me thinking: why do I blog? Why put in the effort day in and day out for what essentially amounts to an Internet window display? Part of it is because I like to write. I like sitting down at the end of the day and verbalizing how things went. I like to put down on (virtual) paper the things that do and don't make me happy at this very moment in time. It helps me make sense of myself and the world around me. The other part of it is that I like a ton of things. I like TV shows, movies, books, shoes, makeup and recipes and I love meeting other people who love those things, too.
On that note, I know I follow a lot of you already, but if I don't, I'd love it if you'd drop me a link so that I can see what you have to say. And I want to thank you guys for taking the time out of your day for reading what I have to say. Writing can be a very solitary thing and blogging makes it just a little less so.
*Totally not comparing blogs to 1984, just trying to make the point that writing is writing, no matter the form.
Anxious
At the risk of getting too serious too fast, I want to talk about anxiety.
Growing up, I was an extremely anxious child. I worried about everything, from what people thought of me, to school work, to after school things, to my interactions, to every worst case scenario ever. It was annoying, but it really wasn't unmanageable. There was enough distraction to counteract the stress and life was pretty normal.
My sophomore year of college, though, was a rough one. I had a close friend do something seriously awful to me that messed me up in more ways than I can count. Her actions ended up turning my entire dorm against me (I kid you not). I was ridiculed. Bullied so much that I hated coming back at the end of the day. I cried a lot. It was really, really hard. Somehow though, I got through that year. And the year after. And each year, the immediate effects faded bit by bit.
But like all traumatic events, this one left its own kind of stain. Though I didn't put two and two together until years later, this shot my anxiety through the roof. If I was worried about my interactions before, about worst case scenarios and trust issues, that was nothing compared to the way I felt now. Tiny triggers would lead to full scale panic attacks, leaving me feeling like I wanted to rip my hair out, like I couldn't breathe, like there was a 10,000 pound rock on my chest, like my heart was racing so fast it was going to take off into the atmosphere. I'd never had a panic attack before and the first time it happened, it terrified me. I didn't know what it was, but I definitely knew I didn't want it to happen again.
But it did. Again and again. Sometimes I could identify the cause. Sometimes I couldn't. Trust, other people, and my interactions with them tended to trigger the attacks more than other things. I sincerely, sincerely felt that everyone was out to hurt me. That everyone was just biding their time to do me wrong. I was suspicious of my friends. Of strangers. I have no idea how anyone stuck by me during that time. I must've been awful.
Over the years, the suspicion faded a little, but it never went away. And that is what became 'normal' for me. I don't think I have to tell you guys this, but that is not normal. Panic attacks, and suspicion, and festering wounds are not normal.
I finally, finally went to therapy and learned how to curb the attacks. Then how to curb the suspicion and holy cow, I am happier than ever. I'm not sure that the anxiety will ever completely go away, but I have learned how to deal with it and that is all I can ask for.
There's only so long we can live as the product of others' actions. There is only so much we can allow circumstance to change us before we have to find our way back. And maybe this post doesn't really have a point, but if you're out there and this sounds familiar, I have a message for you: You are not crazy. You are not broken. But this is not the way life should be. You deserve better. We all do.
Some things I've found that help:
1. Lavender-scented anything
2. Candles
3. Coloring or any other mindful activity
4. Meditation
5. Exercise
6. Animal snuggles
7. Journaling
Let me know if there's anything that's worked for you!
Measuring Autumns
I measure my life in autumns. There's something about the first crisp breeze that brings nostalgia with it, pulling out the memories from the year before and dusting them off. Maybe it's because fall is reliably the same every year. It knocks down the leaves. It signals the start of football, of cooler days, and of sweeter drinks. It's the sameness of the season that allows me to measure the differences in everything else.
It was my senior year of high school when I realized that the first hint of autumn reminded me of something, or more specifically, of all of the autumns before it. Day by day, changes are hard to notice, but autumn by autumn, they become more clear. I could remember the person I was four seasons ago, and I knew that, one year from that moment, I would remember the person I was then. So I memorized the moment and it has stayed with me.
The cool air. Just the tiniest oasis in thick, muggy air. The promise of a new school year and all the adventures it could bring paired with an acute feeling of loss for the year that had passed. I was standing in a parking lot lit by stadium lights. I was gross. Sweaty. Holding a flute and a water jug and realizing that I could not picture my life 365 days from that moment. Day by day, I knew what my future held but viewed in giant leaps, my lack of permanency because acutely noticeable.
365 days from that moment, I would be at some unknown college with unknown friends. I would be taking unknown classes, filling my time with unknown hobbies. The only thing that was certain was that I wouldn't be there. I would never be there again.
That was the first autumn I measured.
Each autumn since has been the same crossroads of what's past and what's to come. Each fall is bittersweet and promising and comfortingly, the same. Now, like back then, I cannot imagine what my life will be like 365 days from this moment. I will be working some unknown job. I will have unknown friends. I will be helping unknown clients, living in an unknown place. The only thing that is certain is that I won't be here. I will never be here again.
Maybe that (along with a healthy dose of pumpkin spice) is what makes the moment so sweet.
It was my senior year of high school when I realized that the first hint of autumn reminded me of something, or more specifically, of all of the autumns before it. Day by day, changes are hard to notice, but autumn by autumn, they become more clear. I could remember the person I was four seasons ago, and I knew that, one year from that moment, I would remember the person I was then. So I memorized the moment and it has stayed with me.
The cool air. Just the tiniest oasis in thick, muggy air. The promise of a new school year and all the adventures it could bring paired with an acute feeling of loss for the year that had passed. I was standing in a parking lot lit by stadium lights. I was gross. Sweaty. Holding a flute and a water jug and realizing that I could not picture my life 365 days from that moment. Day by day, I knew what my future held but viewed in giant leaps, my lack of permanency because acutely noticeable.
365 days from that moment, I would be at some unknown college with unknown friends. I would be taking unknown classes, filling my time with unknown hobbies. The only thing that was certain was that I wouldn't be there. I would never be there again.
That was the first autumn I measured.
Each autumn since has been the same crossroads of what's past and what's to come. Each fall is bittersweet and promising and comfortingly, the same. Now, like back then, I cannot imagine what my life will be like 365 days from this moment. I will be working some unknown job. I will have unknown friends. I will be helping unknown clients, living in an unknown place. The only thing that is certain is that I won't be here. I will never be here again.
Maybe that (along with a healthy dose of pumpkin spice) is what makes the moment so sweet.
