The big fears.

So I’ve always been rather anxious … not unlike a good majority of the rest of the world it would seem …

As a child, my one big fear was that my Mother would die, or leave, and that I would either have to live with my father (an inexplicably scary option) or my grandparents (equally scary – less inexplicable). There was no rational basis for this fear – but I still remember being a 6-year-old very sure that one of those two futures would eventuate.

As an adult, my one big fear is that I will end my life without having been loved in that all-consuming way that reaches atom-level; that I will continue to end my day with an apartment door clicking like a prison cell.

And some days, this potential future, for me, feels as real as reality ever does.  It comes with emotion and physical reactions that, for me, resemble those felt before a particularly scary amusement park ride.

The imaginary future becomes my real present.

And there is no nuance in these thoughts – they are black and white; a good life and a bad one. There is none of the grey that comes with the trials of a relationship or the benefits of a close group of friends and family.

My positive destiny is all roses and its grim alternative is dark silence.

… a measured, balanced emotional response is not one that I was built with.

 

The journey to ‘Here’ #3

Ibiza – 6pm – night warmed … hug warmed … and a circle of women that talked about what we wanted from the week.

I wanted to crack – or rather, to be cracked – split – to somehow break … my spirit was tight; emotions held, fingertips gripping the side of a building …

My brain felt dulled, flat. J’étais dégonflée comme un vieux ballon … the ‘grey’ had become a part of me …

Anything beyond the every day felt like it was birthed through wet cement.

So I wanted to be split, because that was the way that I changed. Change needed to be blunt, brusque; it needed to be irreversible or at least have a finality about it.

I have always been slightly suspicious of anything  gentle. I preferred hard training, hard massage, clear messaging; all or nothing; black or white; either or

It needed to crack.

I thought that it needed to crack.

Turns out – change can be accomplished more gently.

 

The journey to ‘Here’ #2

… and so I ended up in Ibiza …

Farmhouse

 

… leaving my door at a grizzly 8C;

lying flat on my back on an airport lounge shower floor in a desperate attempt to rid myself of, if not my head, at least its interior ache;

medicating myself with sleep-inducing, pain relieving concoctions;

being delayed by three hours that resulted in an additional wait of five and a new destination;

arriving at an airport without an address for a mountain-hidden Spanish farmhouse …

 

 

… after 41 hours, with a hug-welcome.

I had being saying for months that I needed hugs – more hugs, more often, stronger hugs, more touch … ironic that, when the wish is granted but the outcome is not one that looks like that expected … so …

I accepted the hug the way that I accept most hugs – with a veneer of my social self separating the other.

Ibiza – light-filled with a memory of the day’s warmth at 6pm.

 

And today I did something …

Think of the foundations of yesterday – gym at 6am and then a day stretching in front of me, wide open with possibility …

And, instead of curling inwards – I curled outwards …

Walking up the street in early-summer sun to a furniture sale.

Walking down the street with a Danish side table in brushed metal.

Tram-hopping – decision-making – decision-changing – grass-lying – music listening – grocery-shopping – contract-drafting – yoga-going …

noun-verb

alchemy-sensing …

and pleasure-giving …