I wake up at 6:31am in a semi-panic. My phone reminds me of a memory from 2022. I’m spiraling in my head about time and accomplishment and my lack thereof. The kinds of things I want to accomplish and have in my life sometimes feel impossibly unreachable, and I’m finding it harder and harder to relax about not having accomplished them by 35. An age that feels massively old to me.
When I first started dating back in August, I was convinced that feeling so derailed at this stage of my life would be a major turn off. Even though the derailment was caused by a family member’s illness, and the right person wouldn’t be deterred by this, I still found myself plagued by this self-conscious way of thinking. The entire scope of where I’m coming from in my life felt like quite a heavy thing to hand someone I was trying to get to know. It’s the most intense place I’ve ever been before in my life. Luckily I’ve only received graciousness so far in response, which is a far cry from how my ex would’ve reacted. Dating has made quite clear that I still have quite a mean voice in my head: “How could anyone really fall in love with who I am entirely and choose to commit to me?” I haven’t ever experienced full commitment from a romantic partner, and it’s starting to feel grating. Painful. As if it’s not in my cards. I’m impatient, and I passionately desire this kind of deep, lasting love already. I suppose all the rampant chaos illness has brought into my life has especially made me quite ravenous for the comfort that stable, lasting love brings. That particular kind of love you’re willing to sacrifice for. The big kind. I really love that kind of love.
I often have this feeling like I’m too much. Like I’ve expressed too much. Similar to that feeling when you’ve eaten too much. I also sometimes feel like I want too much and I want it right now. Maybe I don’t know how to be suave. Maybe I’m highly uncool and maybe I am often too much for others. I’m unclear. I haven’t interviewed anyone about this and gotten their honest opinion. This could just be another one of my mental spirals I very often find myself wrapped up in. I have a name for it: Samantha’s Mental Cyclone. “Sorry I can’t come out tonight, I’m busy with S.M.C. Not sure when it will let up.”
The morning light is beginning to reveal itself after spending all night hiding. I like imagining light as a creature that was hiding out all this time. Behind a leafy bush, under a wooden table, inside a stinky shoe.
I will try to not let my time-based, nor love-based anxieties rule my day.
I’ve been actively attempting to make friends. I’ve been tempted to just directly ask people “do you wanna be my friend?” Make flyers and staple, thumb tack, and tape them up all around town. Even in the next town over. I’m willing to expand the search territory in my current friendship quest. Yes, I’ve been currently thinking of it as a friendship quest. Sometimes I find myself wanting to skip steps when it’s something I want so badly. I try to notice my extreme impatience when it pops up. But lately, I’ve been trying really hard to not let impatience be my guide. There are much more auspicious inner guides.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what a life is populated with. When one thing leaves your life, what does it feel like afterward? How would it feel if a particular person stopped talking to you? How would it feel if you could no longer make art? How would it feel if a family member died? I’ve been thinking about the meaning in one’s life like weighing things on a scale. Like the meaning, separated into different aspects of your life, were various objects put on a scale ever so delicately (because everything is so fragile). And you find out everything does indeed weigh differently. And I’ve been really feeling these different weights in my own life and observing how they grow, diminish, or change, even if just ever so slightly.
Who are we in the silent moments? And in the moments where nothing is feeling quite right and your stomach is kind of in uncertain knots? When the anxiety in your head is the loudest it will be that day? Do we allow feelings to take their time in us and then be on their way, or do we dodge them in a passionate avoidance, hoping they’ll give up and perish at our feet, vanquished from exhaustion?
I wanted to swim this evening but my pool is outdoors and it was raining and I wasn’t up for a rain swim tonight. Some of the current uncertainty in my life was really bothering me tonight. Maybe I should’ve just said “fuck it” and gone on the rain swim. Oh well. It’s now 20 minutes until tomorrow and I’m going to try to shut my eyes, and let all the worry leave me entirely for at least 8 hours minimum.
