I had another post that I actually wrote. It was the first thing I’ve actually completed in months. I felt elated, felt proud, felt like I was taking a step out of the box that I’d placed myself in. The box that’s limited to the person that’s always thinking about writing, not actually doing it. I wanted a whole lot of credit for thinking about it.
I cannot stop the sun from rising and I can’t keep people from putting their thoughts out there just because I decided to sleep on mine. Although I’m able to admit it selfishly, I wish they would.
That really is selfish. I can admit that.
I’ve spent a lot of time wondering how other people have found the time to work AND do their passion. I rationalized it by telling myself that I deserve several rewards just for making it through the end of the week, month, year, with my mind intact. I deserve the break, the Netflix binges, the mindless hours of Candy Crush Jelly. Then I get my feelings hurt when someone puts their thoughts together in a way I wish I could’ve. Some people are gifted and some people hone the skill. Whether I believe I’m gifted or not, I still need to hone the skill. I run around, so scared I’ll be misunderstood that I end up saying nothing. I stay quiet because the task of explaining seems daunting. It takes a lot of energy to hold others’ attention span. People want the bullet points, “give me the outline of what you’re trying to get across,” and we can move on.
I would’ve rather not started the conversation than to leave it halfway, half-explained.
My whole existence has been feeling half explained lately. I feel like we’re constantly riding a wave of “okay, what’s next?” without fully digesting the last thing that was said/done/felt. I don’t often want company, but I’m in the middle of a phase where it seems like it’s been lasting a little bit longer than usual; a whole lot longer than what I’m comfortable with.
So many thoughts all converging in an intersection. And each one is being kind, letting the other go before it. Nobody knows who has the right of way. Nobody remembers who approached first.
I feel foreign, out of sorts in my own skin. I can’t pin down my mood to a corresponding Spotify playlist and I’m running in circles. Honestly, I feel like I’m losing my mind. I walk the border of “I’m a millisecond away from a huge display of an emotion” behind a seemingly pleasant face. I feel like I’m too late to explain myself now.
I’m doing a whole lot of feeling…