I have been in quite the rut lately.
I don’t feel like doing anything.
I wonder if I am depressed.
I feel frustrated with myself for feeling so unduly unimpressed with my amazing life… aka feeling like a spoiled, ungrateful, grumpy and somehow *also* ridiculously stubborn B.R.A.T. Ugh… feelng pretty sick of myself, you know what I mean?
I started fighting pretty clean…. trying different kundalini kriyas feeling like a fool, forcing out my morning meditations, sipping the greenest green juice… to no avail. Then I thought, this is what I always do, maybe I need to give my inner child a go at it. So I ate oreos by the sleeve, and restarted my netflix account and binge watched entire seasons. I drive all over trying to feel better in a new place only to find myself stuck with same old me and my shitty attitude. I even bought myself new shiny things. To no avail. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? A deep, dark funk.
That’s the kind of cool thing about feeling lousy. Nobody is exempt, which is weird because it might be the loneliest feeling. My chiropractor asked me if I had fun on the long weekend, and I just stared blankly, because I didn’t have the heart to say “I did nothing, I felt pretty depressed.” Because I don’t want to put my shit on other people. Because I don’t want to watch them scramble to try to say something to make me feel better. So I just stay quiet. Or I lie. Welp. This means other people are doing this, too. Maybe you are doing that right. Silently feeling shitty by yourself, not knowing how to deal with it yourself, and maybe not wanting to put any more attention on it.
In a tremendously diverse world of opinions and beliefs, the one thing we are all trying to do is be happy and feel good. So this is my way of connecting to you, to everybody. To expose my weakness and my struggle, even when I feel like I don’t have very eloquent words to describe it, or any ground breaking, earth shattering solutions to offer.
One thing I have learned over the last week or so of this darkness is that I am really hard on myself. I know, I know… YAWN. Same old, same old. Always forgetting, always remembering. At any rate, I realized I have developed this insane standard for myself; that every word I write has to be incredible, resonant, original content that moves people. How exhausting. A flower cannot bloom all year. Neither can I. It’s time to go inward and take care of myself. T write for ME. To move ME. In messy ways, without a care if it helps other people, or if it sounds good. The magical thing is that when I do this for myself, when I care for the microcosm, it WILL reflect back into the macrocosm. It’s a genius system that sometimes escapes my current strategy. Trying to change the outside, pouring all my attention into the macrocosm, leaving little for myself.
It always comes back to the same thing. My work is the only work. When my attention drifts to needing approval or resonance from others, I quickly run dry and feel isolated.
When I am transparent, I feel known. And yeah, I’m normal. I get depressed. I eat chips and cream cheese for dinner. I try to buy myself things to feel better.
So whatever. I’m letting go of my attachment to being this constantly dialed in, connected writer of perpetual wisdom. Whew. It feels good to just put that one down. And I know, that is a ridiculous thing to expect of myself. I can see that now that it is staring back at me on my computer screen. Going forward, I am just going to serve up whatever is there. To get it off my chest where I can see it a little bit clearer. For me. And if it helps you too, bonus.
I was watching this Frida Kahlo documentary the other night scouring youtube for a hit of inspiration. And something did hit me, although it was a little bit sad. Her art, which I love so much, went mostly ignored while she was alive. That’s nuts! And she didn’t seem to give a fuck (from what I could tell). She made art for herself.
I want to do the same. Because, who knows, maybe my art/writing/whatever is not meant to resonate with others right now. I have to stay honest, and stop caring about how it lands. Which is pretty difficult to do, I might add. In a land of instagram likes and analytics telling me how many people will read this very thing you are reading right now, the response is very, very, almost painstakingly shoved in my face. It is the ugly neon sign in front of the art, telling you whether it is worthy of being viewed or not, based on how liked it already is by others.
Time to adjust my focus. To release the attachment to being well received, understood, or celebrated, and just mind my own damn business. Take care of myself for me. Stop caring about how it looks or sounds. Did it help me? Because otherwise I am just doing the whole trying to look good thing again, in more spiritual clothes. Yuck.
This new moon I dive into the realness and honesty. I will not wait until I have happy things to say to share myself with others. Hear I am, raw and real.