hello my name is sarah and i am full of love and fear.
my plan was to go ‘run errands’ (AKA ‘do stuff’, but phrased in a way that makes me sound like i’m wearing a pencil skirt) but due to a creeping fatigue or the clenched muscle in my abdomen ejecting it’s own lining i have opted instead to wrap myself in very soft blankets and write about my feelings.
i often resort to a chronological telling of events passed, but i don’t think that would really help dig out what needs to be unearthed. not today, anyway. for context’s sake though, i will say that i have now fully moved. the cleaning, the transporting of heavy boxes, the first stages of settling in the new have all come and gone. and now here we are.
i think i am most struck by the overwhelming volume of unhesitating, unquestioning support and presence i have felt from my loved ones. even humans on the outskirts of my most contacted circles and closest friends have made themselves available to me. people have lifted and put down and driven and cleaned and simply been there for me over these last two weeks. even more people have offered. i have been stressed, yes, and done a fair amount of work, but i did not and could not have done this alone.
i think the reason this is so emotionally affecting is because i do feel alone, a lot of the time. in this universe, i mean. maybe it is the existentialism or current lack of spiritual community/framework, but i often feel disconnected, disoriented, severed. i feel out of touch, and then project my reality onto others - as an educated guess - and assume that we are all lost little bits just bumping into each other. clouds of silt pushed and swept along by divine currents.
this isn’t and can’t be true, though. just because i don’t have a certain amount of vulnerability and connection in my life doesn’t mean that others don’t, as well. egocentric! selfish! i must remember the times i have seen or heard about or been a part of those moments - so rich they are sticky and thick - when souls collide and nothing seems to be separate from anything. looking at the ocean makes me feel that way. like there is a little bit of home in everyone and everything, and that every stranger deserves love - my love - and every bug and plant is open to conversation. this is also a very real part of myself that has gone underground. isn’t it? i feel very much so, but fear i am wrong. i fear that this gentle, open nature is something i’m simply holding onto from my teenage years. it must be there, though. it must be curled up, tucked up under my liver and hibernating. now my arms and face and cognitions are animated by the comedian, the scholar, the writer, the outspoken feminist, the lover, the apprehensive socialite. there are dice in my heart and i roll every quarter year. we rotate. we play. we try different combinations. different archetypes master different skills and areas and then someday i pray for integration.
what i say and the way in which i say it - in my writing, i mean, in this blog -seems so dissonant from my daily actions, but both feel honest. there is a bit of self-mocking coming from the back left part of my brain when i read over my words and tone. “wha - “but fear i am wrong”? how lofty, how cheesy, don’t try so hard to be eloquent -” and it’s strange that such critique would come from my own self because i know full well i am not trying to be anything, yes? even now, it’s like i’ve baited it into speaking up again - “what a blatantly obvious attempt at covering your tracks. stop feigning authenticity.”
i think i have been severely mentally scarred by a lot of attitudes - both my own and the attitudes of my companions - from high school. but the jeering is now my own. i have become my own heckler.