Coasting.

I will not let my past dictate my present. My losses do not define me. 

It's as though I've been burdened by a load of bricks on my sternum, weighing down my chest. This is what it is to have a heavy heart. Each burden has a name: sorrow, dejection, regret, loneliness, and doubt. As I progress westward, they’re slowly being unloaded. Perhaps by the time I make it to the coast the pressure will be off. I'd finally be free to breathe again.

Though I long for a hit of blissful happiness I don't know how to safely feel it any more. The possibility of plunging into emotional peaks and valleys, high-highs and low-lows, feels too great a risk. I've been trying to flat line. I've weighted my wayward heart, trying to keep it in place. I'm a bit terrified to relinquish my emotional compression. I ought to know better. This heart is a wonderer and a wanderer. She's searching. She needs to soar to better have a viewpoint of where to nest. Happiness is uplifting. I can find my way with far more success when I’m up.

The road sign says Hope is 25 kilometers away. I can’t wait to find it. Nightfall’s shadow has gathered by the highway’s edge. Everything will be a bit brighter when I get there. The exit sign is well lit, pointing me to what I could use a good dose of. Instead I pass by—not stopping. Or, is it Hope passing me by? I’m not sure I’ll ever find it again. I’m headed for the edge of the country and don’t have time to linger.

I enter Vancouver by midnight. Is this the darkest hour or the start of a new day? It’s hard to tell, driving in the dark, when I feel like breaking down. I’m exhausted in every way. The travel almost done, the rest is to come. Endings are really the start of the next story. I want to believe this is where I once again begin.

Settling into my lodgings, I take in the past few months’ disappointments. I’d like to sleep it all off. Can I dream away my doubts? Slumber off my sorrows? It’s time to shut off the bedroom light, and try to shut off my mind. My restless thoughts should just give it a rest already. I want to be here, present. I’ve come so far. I’m miles away. It takes me so much focus to fall asleep but I eventually get there.

Morning arrives, filtering into my room with tranquil, creamy light. I dress in like colours, to reflect my conscious attempt at a sunny outlook. A day spent wandering aimlessly about, with no agenda, is precisely what is needed. Walking along the seawall I can see how far I’ve come. Moving forward means walking away. Holding on to the past will only hold me back, so I let go. I feel my remaining heart-weights cast off. This un-anchoring sets me free to coast along. I shall carry on.

With my recovered light-heartedness, I find space to fill myself with improvement, and only optimism will do. Hope comes before Vancouver. I thought I’d left it behind. It’s a delight to discover it has accompanied me upon on my arrival­—an unexpected, but much welcome, companion. 

Nothing matters most.

Life is so exquisitely meaningless, yet it means so much to me. There are a thousand reasons why every instant has beauty and wonder. The small curve of my young son’s cheek catches my breath with its form. I shaped that face inside myself; now, he strides forward to face the world. I am in awe of the miniscule beginnings that stretch larger, outward, into each of us and beyond. He and I both come from the elements of stars, and will cycle back again, in turn. The profundity of how absolutely connected everything is, on an elemental scale, remains astonishing.

A cluster of cells—united in purpose—divide to multiply. Repetition and pattern, the rules of formation engage. Are you flora? Or, are you fauna? There are rules for your making. Why do you form thusly so? We cannot say exactly why, only how. As such, then, how curious, and how marvelous; how remarkable it all is! The lifespan of a person is usually within the confines of only one century. This proves to be no more than a mere speck in the ever-expanding continuum of time. The lifespan of an adult mayfly is usually within the confines of only one day. It is a fully lived life, though brief in comparison to our own human experience. This extraordinary brevity causes me to pulse with gratitude for the chance to even exist. Look closer and you will see lifetimes lived within a moment. Epic dramas of tiny proportions are contained within a single dewdrop.

There is nothing exceptionally exceptional about existence. It occurs hourly, and is ended likewise. There is nothing special about being alive, other than that it is happening to you. The conscious framework of your own being is the only reason you have any meaning at all.

The meaning of life is what you make of it. My life means nothing, but I shall make the most of it. Nothing matters, really. How, then, do I find that all the nothingness matters most of all?

Drifting

My life ebbs and flows in every unexpected way. I used to believe it was my duty to commandeer my own ship, and, thusly, always set a direct course for my final destination. In recent years, I have found the journey to be far more enjoyable taking a rafting approach. The learnings I’ve taken from past experiences provide me with paddles to steer through dangerous or tricky circumstances. Trusted, supportive friends are the life preservers I use to keep myself afloat through times of difficulty. Other than that, my only job is to let the current guide me through these winding waters. I cannot see around the bend, but I will experience it when I get there. I am part passenger, and part gentle navigator. Now that I no longer need to constantly focus on what may be coming, I can finally appreciate the scenery surrounding me. It’s nice to be here.

Bittersweet

I am willing, but not always able,

To be what I think it is to be relatable.

Everyone else seems to have read the manual

On how to accomplish life correctly.

Most days I feel an awkward fulcrum

The tipping point of uncertainty,

Between confidence and people pleasing,

Where I falter and withdraw.

It's all the people and all the stories

Of everything I am and never will be.

I feel the heavy weight of failing other’s expectations.

I am a disappointment, and it crushes me.

I know it's all just false idealism.

Why won't my feelings follow reason?

I don't know the banal comfort of blissful ignorance.

I am bittersweet.

I'm wrong, I'm wrong, I'm wrong.

I would willingly admit this a thousand times,

If you tell me how to never make

A hurtful mistake again.

The trick is to keep breathing.

Everything is achingly beautiful. Have you ever surrendered to overwhelming fear/loss/jealousy/anxiety and let it seep through you, soaking you completely in your own grief? Don’t stop there; this is only the start. The test is to feel everything, every single thing. Feel the streaming abysmal dismay, the bitter terror of abandonment, the paralyzing clutch of profound sorrow. When it rises over you, then crashes down, the trick is to keep breathing. You have to fight for air, kicking and screaming your way to the surface. Break through, breathe through, swim for shore. The waves will pass over, and fall away. You’ll see. You felt their every pummel, thought you’d drown in your own emotions. Now you understand they actually pushed you to your destination. Dry land. Safety. The terrible, brutal beauty of it all.

Breaking up with Barbie.

At eight years old, I had an existential crisis regarding my future ambivalence towards playing with Barbie dolls. I was certain that within the next year or two, I would lose all desire and interest to play with the vapid plastic beauty, and, as such, felt a profound sense of loss at the prospect. At the time, there was immense satisfaction found through investing my time in making certain Barbie’s every outfit suited each imaginary occasion. I mourned my impending decrease in pleasure, despite concurrently reasoning that I would not feel sad when it actually happened. To be sure, I was aware that people tend to stop playing with dolls when they no longer find it fun. Still, my younger self felt a pang of sorrow for my hypothetical future loss.

At thirty-four years old, I had an existential crisis regarding my future breakup with my love. I was certain within the next year or two, he would lose all desire and interest to be with me, and, perhaps, the feeling would be mutual. As such, I felt a profound sense of loss at the prospect. At the time, there was immense satisfaction found through investing my time in the relationship. I mourned my impending decrease in pleasure, despite concurrently reasoning that I would not feel sad when it actually happened. To be sure, I was aware that people tend to break up when they no longer want to be together. Still, my younger self felt a pang of sorrow for my hypothetical future loss.

I am here, physically, but my thoughts are usually far. My mind easily drifts forward, spiralling through possibility. Potential outcomes are carefully considered. Mental plans, drafted and revised, form my map to direct my future state. I experience emotions for what is yet to perhaps not come. Joy or sorrow, contentment or loss – physically I experience a broad range of feelings from imagined events, which may or may not occur. It’s so much worse this way.

It would be preferable to contain my emotional reactions to actual occurrences. As a person of overwhelming sentimentalities, I feel it all, and it’s exhausting. I need to break my forecasting habit. Letting go of what’s to come will better serve me. Feeling only what’s real, that’s where to focus. The future, uncertain, but I’m certain to be fine. I need to be - right here, right now.

A different direction.

Hey, remember when you were my confidant? The relief of true friendship we found in one another made me feel less broken. Suddenly, my track record of short-lived friendships was rendered obsolete. We shared a real connection, my dear. With love of our common god to base us, we carried forth our conversations over impassioned environmental concerns, shared DIY tips, staggered through the learning curves of cooking for our allergy-ridden children, loved vintage thrifting, and tried to let go the burden placed on each of our hearts for the peers who would not, or could not accept or understand us. I found solace in you - a place that I felt real.

I remember the night, my former confidant, when I fearfully confessed my doubts, and you were so worried about your spouse’s. I tried to give you insight, and you tried to give me support, yet somewhere along the discourse, we slightly missed our marks. Or maybe you dodged, not ready to take in all that I was throwing at you? I can’t complain that you’ve ever judged me, but I feel the weight of your loss of the former me. You swore we’d still be friends, that it wouldn’t change anything. I didn’t believe you, and I didn’t want to, because I desperately wanted you to see my new reality, and join me. I wanted you to change, with me.

It’s different now. You are still so lovely and kind, a truehearted soul. But, I don’t believe in souls anymore, so where does that leave us? What are we based on, now? You won’t follow my reasoning, and I won’t return to your faith. We now walk along much different paths, and I can’t see many crossovers. There is a quiet yearning, from each of us, to follow the other. I cannot, and you will not. Shall we walk alongside one another, our ways slowly leading away from each other? I take more comfort in that, then the sharp turn of simply walking away. Let’s draw this out, for as long as we can, while we both faintly, futilely hope for our roads to intersect once more.

How to be a person.

Step one: Forget everything you think you know. Develop strong critical thinking skills and rational thought.

Step two: Change every single aspect of your life. Right now – as in, this very instant. Repeat as necessary.

Step three: Submit to overwhelming anxiety as your life choices affect those around you.

Step four: Increase your alcohol consumption and offset with increased coffee intake. Balance in all things.

Step five: Fall madly in love, while doubting yourself completely. Do it anyway.

Step six: Become financially independent. A good way to do this is to get a job.

Step seven: Be profoundly happy. It’s not selfish.

Step eight: Be incredibly lonely. It’s just a feeling.

Step nine: Be mindfully present. Nothing is forever, except for right now.

Step ten: Be completely yourself.

Congratulations! You’re human. Good luck with that.