Feel like you’re nothing?
I go through phases. I either feel fantastic about my accomplishments or I feel as though I have zero accomplishments. It’s one or the other; there is no middle ground, no gray area.
And all that’s fine. I think most people go through times when they question themselves and wonder just what in the hell they’re doing with their lives.
But here’s the thing.
I still can’t figure out what these impossible standards of mine mean. Why can’t I let them go? Why can’t I set my own standards from scratch? I want to set standards that have no memory, no history. I want to set standards for myself that are solid and real without guilt attached.
Should is a damned word.
But, I shouldn’t feel as though I don’t matter. And I shouldn’t judge myself based on a fleeting feeling. And I shouldn’t always be a swinging pendulum going from one extreme to another. And I shouldn’t.
But I do.
People never want to start over if things are going well. Because why would they? Starting over from zero is easier/better/more enticing than continuing on in the negative.
So, a fresh start? What does that mean? It means that things have recently been overcooked, garbled and ultimately disappointing. So is a fresh start really what you’re looking for? Or are you looking in a panic for the do-over button? Are you looking for a time machine? Are you looking for a way to set things back to the way they were? Hubbell?
What are you looking for? For what are you looking? A way to end a question without preposition?
So what’s better? To start over or to try to make sense of the mess? The mess. How did it become a mess? How did it become a situation that has been deemed beyond repair? How did it become something that was unable to be fixed? Did it? Or did you all of a sudden become too weak?
There’s a breaking point. But it’s a point of observation. It’s a point at which you should investigate, study what the issues are and how to solve them. Not a point to actually break. Right?
But moving through is hard. Harder than staring over. Hence my point.
The easy way out isn’t the best way out, most of the time. Who in the hell decided on that design? But it’s good. It’s a design that pushes us. It pushes us to be stronger and it pushes us to discover our own identity and it pushes us to find the limits of our potential.
But it’s hard. It’s never easy. But in the end, it’s worth it.
***This rant excludes people who had something unimaginably terrible happen to them, including natural disasters, unexpected diseases/deaths, unfortunate loss, etc.
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I turn 30 tomorrow. I don’t know why, but it’s kind of freaking me out. However, the thought of turning, say, 32 doesn’t freak me out. But something about crossing that threshold is making me feel… je ne sais quoi. It’s not quite melancholy and it’s definitely not nostalgia. But it feels like I’m about to walk through a door and leave something behind.
“They” say that your 30s are better than your 20s because you know yourself (or at least better than before). I suppose that is inevitably true. I’m looking forward to that because my 20s have kind of felt like a hot mess at times. Who am I? Where am I going? What am I doing? Why am I doing this? Is it supposed to look like that? What’s that smell? Etc. But I’m hopeful and optimistic that there will be less questions in the next decade. Either that or I hope that I choose not to let the unanswerable questions get me down.
So here I sit. I’ve done the dishes, the laundry is put away, the floor has been vacuumed, the dog has been walked and I’m responsibly enjoying a refreshing after-work beer. The big plan for my last night of my 20s? Watch some streaming television, read and turn in early.
And as for tomorrow? For the big day? I’ve taken off from work, having imagined that I would do something AMAZING! But I ended up scheduling an annual physical that I’ve missed for the past 7 years. Lame, right?
Naturally, however, there will be a delicious dinner, because what is getting older without a solid meal for which animals have given their lives so that I may enjoy their flesh?
I don’t know. It feels like it’s about to be big, but I know it’s going to be anti-climactic and fizzle out without much ado. Which is the best I could hope for, I guess.
But I still can’t shake this feeling. Maybe it’s indigestion.
An itch you can’t scratch
A scratch you can’t reach
A stretch you can’t stretch
Expansion is constant and always retreating
Always is a dirty word and should never be used
Should, always, never
Forever is typically hopeful, but I won’t say always
Never is usually throwing in the towel
My point of view is skewed and others look in with judgement, more experience, better approaches
I can see you, too, you know
It bothers me sometimes that there are parts of my body I’ll never be able to see without a mirror
Maintain, I have to at least maintain
But if I’m only treading water, I’ll eventually drown where I paddle
My dreams haunt me with reality
Reality is invading my reality
I make an effort to say, “tissues.” 1) Because I think it’s a cute word and 2) because it’s not a name-brand. I don’t always use Kleenex. In winter months, I require Puffs with lotion because my nose is a princess and extra drippy.
But, overall, I say Kleenex when I need a tissue.
Band-Aid won the day with band-aids. Nothing more to say on that front.
I learned recently that Adrenaline is the name brand for Epinephrine.
Strange that these are primarily toiletry items. Maybe not so strange. The bathroom is a strange place full of strange needs. And Until someone invents a product for just that need, we don’t even know we need it.
Toilet paper didn’t evolve itself quite so suddenly, so it remains anonymous.
Let’s end it there, with toilet paper.
So, what’s it going to be? There’s something that I want to
write, but I’m not exactly sure what that’s going to be yet. There are a lot of
things that I need to say and there are a lot of things that need to be
understood. But I’m not sure I’m ready yet and I’m not sure I’m there yet.
Maybe if I had had more support growing up and maybe if I
had any sense of developed self-esteem, things would have turned out differently.
And when I say maybe, I mean definitely. What happens when you grow up being
the safety net for those who are supposed to be spending their time being your
safety net? What happens if you grow up listening and never being heard? What
happens when you grow up meant to feel guilty for anything having to do with self-identity?
You grow into the empty shell you were brought up to be.
The journey to finding myself has been a constant in my
life. I’ve never quite been there, never reached the end goal. I’ve never been
able to stand up and say, “I am ______.” Because I’m still figuring that out.
And even if I think that I have an
answer, chances are I’m too much of a yellow-belly to say so. Fear of judgment,
fear of rejection, fear of love.
So who am I? I am a crier, a feeler, a flighter. I am an
artist, a writer and a reader. I am a cheese lover, a beer lover and a lover. I’m
a laugher and a joker and a midnight… omelet maker.
But I’m still lost. And I’m still searching. And I’m still
trying to get used to it. And I’m still trying to let myself out and let myself
be. And most of all – and most importantly of all – I’m still trying to like me.