my life the shit show starring me

I feel like my life is semi-permanently queuing. My life is the rainbow spinny thing on a Mac and I’m contemplating a force-quit. It’s a text message stuck in sending mode and not yet sent. My life is like when you open the tupperware container cabinet in the kitchen and they all fall out on top of you. My life is when you’re bagging your things at the supermarket and trying frantically to open the plastic grocery bag but that shit will not come apart. It’s thinking you have a bottle of wine left but all you got is tap water. It’s your debit card being declined for like a one dollar purchase. It’s your uber driver canceling after you waited outside for ten minutes. It’s showing up to a cool event and being the only person there. My life is this long list that no one will even read.

That probably sounds really dramatic, but, let’s face it, I’m a dramatic person. To be serious, I’m feeling really aggravated with life right now and I need someone to connect with and talk to about it, so that might as well be the internet. Being in this nomadic position has made me feel continuously disconnected to pretty much everything and everyone in a way that is hard to deal with, let alone explain.

More than anything, while this past year has taught me a lot about being alone, I have also learned quite a bit about purpose. Interestingly enough, I think lack of purpose is a very similar feeling to loneliness. It’s an emptiness, a state that takes something, little by little, from your soul. Purpose is everything and right now I feel very purposeless. In my job/lack of job, in my personal life, in my relationships with people. But the thing that I have realized is that nearly everyone around me feels the same way, to different degrees, whether they’re aware of it or not. And that perplexes me. It’s that confusing feeling of being surrounded by people and yet still feeling alone. I see most people I know without purpose in their jobs or their relationships and I wonder if they go to bed with the same anxiety and frustration I feel on a daily basis. I know some of this feeling is owed to the simple fact of being a Millennial in their 20s. There’s even mad literature on this shit. But being in this uprooted period of my life has made me privy to seeing other people who are rooted in a different way — how there perhaps is not much difference between us at all. And this makes me sad.

I see people who are focused on filling their lives rather than living fulfilling lives. People who add in distraction upon distraction to avoid their feelings and their truths. People who give their whole selves to another person, in relationships that are unhealthy and leave no room for anything or anyone else. Moving in with people or getting engaged and losing any sense of self or separation. People who distance themselves or push away people who make them think and feel too much because it disrupts this safety net that is ultimately dissatisfying. People who maintain superficial friendships rather than deep ones. Who reach out only when it is convenient for them. People who connect only to catch up and then go on their merry way until sufficient time has passed to catch up again, although everything has most likely remained the same. It’s like people don’t want to have experiences. They don’t want to initiate them, feel them, share them, sit with them and what they may do. What they may call out of them. How they may make them feel alienated from the life they have built up. Acutely aware of this abyss inside them. All that has been hollowed out. This numbness. How it will change to feeling; too much feeling.

I know that a lot of this is out of self-preservation, but what’s the point? What are we preserving here? The undisturbed continuation of a mediocre life that lacks meaning and connection? Why? What the hell for?

My life may feel like a shit show right now, but I am so grateful that I’m aware of it. Feeling all this angst and frustration and isolation is so much better than being ‘comfortable,’ than settling, than lying to myself. Than knowing all of this and not doing anything about it. This feeling sucks. But this is what we are called to do. To strive for better than being placeholders. To have the courage to recognize all this and start over. To just do it, because we don’t have nothing to lose, we have everything to lose. We are here not only to change the world, but to change ourselves. To live our lives as a tumultuous, emotional, purposeful journey. To know that it is not never-ending. That the end is what makes it important. That we are important. And we shouldn’t waste our lives away like this. We just can’t. We just cannot.


“Adjusting” or whatever

I keep finding myself in the strangest places wondering how the hell I got there. (I feel like I’ve said that before). Such is this whole year. Me, in the backs of near strangers’ cars, gazing out the window at yet another new job, in the bed of a random room I’ll call home for a little while, holding my suitcase like it is all I own, dragging it down pebbled sidewalks, clutching it close like it is a part of myself, entirely. I am so used to going and going, barely stopping to take a breath that I suddenly find myself in sobering moments of clarity — feeling the bumps of a back street car ride, behind the silent glow of a window pane, beneath scratchy sheets and another forgettable ceiling, lugging my whole self to and from and to and from. These flashes of time give way to a momentary panic.

How many skylines can I see and not yet a horizon?

In how many places do I sleep until one of them is home?

I’ve been in transit with no part of myself rooted in the ground for so long that I feel like I’m stuck, infuriatingly, behind a glass wall and no matter how well I perform or how loud I scream or thrash or love or flee, nobody hears me, nobody sees me.

Do you ever feel like you’re on fire?

Do you ever wonder how no one notices it?

I don’t know how to start over in a place where I feel I almost don’t exist, where the people who would see me and understand it all and be in the fire with me are no longer a part of my life or are only half there. Losses like that are worse than any burn — deep, unforgettable.

Is it possible to not want to go back but not want to continue this way, either?

I guess this is the dust before settling. This is the waiting in the thick of it. And I hate waiting.