Life

Masks and fragmentation

/ EtreAnne / Leave a comment

I entered the yoga studio feeling fragmented.

To be fair, I was on the verge of illness the level of which makes one question whether one should lounge or take to action; whether it would be socially irresponsible to extend the bug to others, or equally irresponsible to ignore the personal requirement of daily exercise …

… fragmented.

Nonetheless, in response to the question, “how are you?” my automated response was given – “fine – thanks”.

…

An alternate reality.

A facade.

A mask.

…

Masks are barriers to connection.

They are instinctively established and instinctively felt.

I protect myself from you. You sense my mistrust.

The yoga class today introduce the idea of dropping down into reality – pain, discomfort, strength, power, light …

Dropping into reality … carefully setting aside the mask.

…

“How are you?”

“I moved to a new city in search of a career-orientated north star. The bright light that I thought that I saw … so wanted to see … was the shimmer of sun ray off metal – bright, attention-grabbing … fleeting.

And I am still here.

Still searching for the north star.

I feel a little lost and the people that I trust with my self are on the end of fibre optic cable, and I need face-to-face.

My apartment is soon to be sold which means the one small root that I had shot down into this life is going to be pulled up.

And my dating story is not being assisted by modern technology …

So – I’m feeling a little like I don’t belong …

a little fragmented

… but thankyou for asking.”

 

LTLpsh … supporting the very small voice

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VanGoghWind

I am the kind of person who needs a little push.

I need someone inviting me, poking me, or something that prods me, into the first step.

I would love to be the person who sees the opportunity – the potential fun to be had in the unknown or undiarised … who is energised by the mere thought of doing something.

I know those people – you know those people. They are the ones that are surrounded by a group, who are always ‘out’ … they seem very light, carefree … the human equivalent of a Van Gogh wind.

The odd element in my life – I am the person who gets energy from both the unknown and the undiarised … when I’m doing them.

It’s just the first step that needs to be taken … by me … that offers the obstacle.

I was at home yesterday … a Friday … a sunny Friday … a Friday where I should have felt compelled, at the very least, to step outside.

I know that ‘should’ indicates a whole host of other issues … but I ‘should’ have because I knew that I would feel better if I did. I knew that I would feel more connected to the world and with that, my energy levels would rise and with that, I would be more inclined to step out a little further and with that … who knows …

… and yet … I couldn’t drag myself from the dark that had become my apartment (I had closed the blackout blinds at 6am after deciding not to go to the gym) until 4pm and a yin yoga class.

Even then, if truth be told, as well as the enticing idea of a class that I generally can’t get to and that required only a passive-me, I needed the little push of the imminent arrival of house guests and conversation that my brain was not prepared for …

So I stepped out of the house.

And the class was delicious – smile-inducing. And it allowed me to work out my plans for the evening and have those plans fully formed when I returned to houseguests who are also good friends. And, when I returned to good friends, I was mentally prepared and genuinely happy to see them which, in turn made them comfortable, which, in turn, made me happy …

And it started with a first step – out of the house.

HoNYMary

Humans of New York : 11 August 2011

I have kept this post in my head for rather a while (over six years apparently) … and I think …. what if I took more first steps more often and what if I made this motto mine …

And then it makes me think – how do I put the idea that ‘I should’ into an action that I do.

… insert emoji thinking face here …

… and then a voice in my brain, rolling its eyes (I anthropomorphise regularly) : “What’s the point? What’s the real chance of ‘wonderful’? Nothing’s going to change” …

… and if there’s no point …. then why do …?

And then a very small voice, soul-piquingly disheartened by the immediacy of the negative response, attempts a very small coup …

How to support the very small voice?

… another insertion … another emoji thinking face …

What is the most joyful language in the world?

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I have just come from an osteopathic appointment where I spoke French for an hour … for me, French allows me to lose myself; it’s as if the wide, low, three-rail farm gates leading to an expanse of my brain not used in the everyday have swung open on oiled hinges.

To speak French is satisfying; chocolate cake-level satisfaction for me …

It is a beautiful language; poetic, fluid, melodic, elegant …

… but it is not necessarily a joyful language.

What is the most joyful language in the world? What is the most joyful culture in the world?

What do I think that ‘joy’ even is?

 

 

The “Sad Days – Emergency Kit”

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I want richness – juiciness – yumminess; a squelchy, gooey, textured life.

That resonates for 2018 – I want texture and richness and friendship and love.

My 2017 … it was change. Breaking old patterns – trying to break old patterns.

It was the year of a bag. The “Sad Days – Emergency Kit” filled by my sister. For days that felt heavier than I wanted them to. For days when I felt alone. For days when I felt unloved. For days when my eyes saw my body as something to be hated. For days when I questioned what my purpose in life actually was … is.

Parcels, individually wrapped. The first one a Haighs-soft teddy-bear that has stayed with me over a move, new job and fragmentation of life. The second, a French film-filled USB, with a small card “Random act of kindness TIME” … still owed.

Today – another USB, unknown content. Another “Random act of kindness TIME” – donate clothes to those who need them more than me … to do this week.

I don’t like the term ‘suffering’ from depression. I know that, technically, it’s the correct verb … but … it is heavy with defeat.

I have a relationship with depression. At times, the relationship takes my breath away, floors me, knocks me sideways.

At times, mutual suspicion means a healthy distance.

Today is not one of those days. Today, I broke open the third parcel.

But I want more joy in my life. I need it. I want to work through the heaviness that I currently feel. I want juiciness.

Three weeks ago, I bought a book entitled “Can You Be Happy for 100 Days in a Row?“. I needed a regime, something easy to follow even when my Nietzsche-loving brain is telling me that everything is pointless … if I’m going to cede to something, it’s going to be something that offers potential.