It was suggested to me today that I may come across as unrelatable as I seem to have life figured out. That I show no struggle. That I don’t seem to go through rough patches in life. That I don’t seem to fail.
It was not the first time I heard those words, but this time I really took them to heart. Now, while it’s true that this comment came from the same individual on both occasions, maybe it’s not about them. Maybe this is the only person who feels free to tell me that.
Maybe I do seem like I have everything under control. That there is no (visible) struggle in my life. I may not explicitly talk about it much. I process things quietly. I have conversations with the little voice in my heart that usually knows what’s best for me before my emotionally laden and/or analytically driven voices do. That little, soft, compassionate voice stands outside of my first-person experience like a witness to all that is unfolding and gently guides me through the maze. It’s been with me ever since I can remember. I can float between being fully immersed in the parts of this human experience that are messy, heavy, muddy and grieving, and cradle them all in my large, invisible, spirit arms that only know and feel love. This process is generally invisible to others but seeps through my writings.
Writing is my way off letting go of things I no longer want to hold onto to quietly. All that I write comes from experience…whether through dreams or waking life. It comes from countless hours spent in quiet contemplation. From following that little heart voice inside. From reflecting on walking the paths I take and feeling my way through the choices I make, not just on the eventual outcomes.
If you check out the themes of my writings, you’ll find longings and nostalgia just as readily as equanimity or gratitude. Not everything that inspires me is wonderful or easy or light. But I find a way to transmute it to a process that is healing for me…and what manifests might help someone else in their own journey.
I find longings beautiful and daydreams my form of meditation. They remind me that I’m capable of imagining things I may not have yet experienced and experiencing things I only could have imagined. This brings me hope. Which helps pull me out of the mire and I take a baby step out of the haze, sadness, desperation. Then another. And another. And I rejoin the external world a little more at peace, a little more settled, a little more compassionate. And maybe a little less relatable.
But let me assure you. I am human. I feel. Deeply. I think. All the time. I daydream as much as I act. There are longings that go unfulfilled, visions that have not yet manifested, little cravings that I’ve learned to be okay with leaving unmet. I have lived through traumatic experiences. I am always talking myself out of fearing financial insecurity. But I’m also trusting that things would always, somehow, work out.
So while I’ve learned to respond calmly to crises, to regulate and process my emotions so as to be able to show up to life gracefully, to embrace other’s suffering and offer them my unconditional love, acceptance and support with a clear mind and an open heart, I too, fall. And fail. And sometimes I stay on the ground for longer than anyone knows. I, too, would like that little heart voice in my head to manifest in a form of another human being who wants to be there for me.
For some of us, the hard work happens quietly on the inside. It doesn’t mean we walk around having life figured out. We might be resilient and hopeful, we might seem calm and confident, but we aren’t invincible, and we aren’t unapproachable. Let us feel safe in your presence, accepted without judgment, loved without conditions…and you’ll see the complex, sensitive, questioning, raw, messy, colorful, vulnerable beings that we are.
Recent Comments