The current paradox (personally) is this:
I have been doing nothing that I thought makes me me. Hobbies, interests, personal projects; they’ve pretty much all gone by the wayside the past few weeks. Despite that, I’ve never felt more like me than I do right now.
For many reasons that I won’t list here, I feel as though I live on a razor’s edge. What lies to each side is dangerous, strong feelings of anxiety and depression and a general unwillingness to do anything at all.
The goal for some time has been to blunt that edge, and give myself more room to walk. To distance myself from the crevices to each side, and in doing so I’m hoping, desperately, to find the true me.
I used to think that the path to doing this was to find things I like to do, do them, and find myself in those experiences. Now, I see that I’ve been pretty narrow-minded in that.
So then how do I proceed?
In this moment, I don’t have an answer. Not long ago that would have sharpened that edge and created more anxiety. Now, I feel as though that unknown is calming in a way. Why do I need to know everything about myself and everything that I should do? Why do I need to control that at all? Can I not just let things be and come to me as they are?
I guess the paradox is more of a reframing. A new perspective, a new calm. I’m looking forward to seeing what’s next, and not knowing exactly what that might be now creates excitement instead of dread.
Today was Friday, I needed breakfast and cigarettes on my long drive out of town.
In the gas station I crossed paths with quite a few others starting their respective days and in typical me fashion I said “Pardon me,” “Hello,” and gave the occasional Midwest nod and half-smile when I accidentally made eye contact with someone.
And you know what? Not a single person returned any sort of acknowledgement of my presence. Stone cold faces of the morning passed me, no one budged, and that frustrated me. It also made me laugh.
Friday mornings are weird times, especially along boring highways and in busy gas stations where everyone’s experience is just one more task to add and complete before some end. What that end is differs, but it’s typically work and the end of work.
There’s a beginning there, too. A beginning to a weekend and to the time that is reserved for us.
I don’t really have weekends anymore, not because I work too much but because every day has become a Saturday for me. I’m lucky, I know that, and I also realize that’s probably why I was the only one today with a single fucking shred of courtesy.
To the man I held the door open for this morning, if you’re reading this, you are so fucking welcome.
Oh well, another day passes, and I’m looking forward to making a fool of myself yet again tomorrow.
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