Artichokes

I like to think that the edge is just more well rounded, rather than gone altogether. At least that's what I tell myself when I look back at how I used to write - raw, honest, emotional, introspective... adolescent. Childish. I'm grown up now, haven't you heard? Blogs and emotions went out of style around the time I stopped wearing leather jackets and Madonna-esque cross earrings...or maybe they were never really acceptable, at all. I got internships, grew out my "I can cut my hair however I want" bangs, and stopped writing.

I have a love-hate relationship with moderation. I think I always have. I write what I feel and put it in quotes so it seems like I'm self-aware and questioning. I say what I'm thinking (not because I can't help myself - because I want to) and then I follow it up with rational analysis: "don't worry, I'm not actually feeling anything, I was just having a moment of weakness for these perfectly understandable reasons..."

Weakness. A moment of weakness. Is being honest about emotions a strength, or a weakness? I want to ask why I am more comfortable with analytical writing, but everyone knows: it hides you. Even a strong opinion paper is about something that isn't, well, me. So I "write" about things that don't touch me, and when I really feel something, I use other people's words. Other people's thoughts, other people's feelings, and my own internal frustration that I'm too wrapped up in figuring out if it's ok to write about it to ever get to actually write about it.

...

Hangover

“Trust is a confusing thing; it seems so simple but when you try to pin it down, it can be elusive. I think of the way that my body sits on a surface that’s new to me, unknown, and how my muscles remain tight, anticipating anything, and I’m constantly aware of that surface. Over time I can relax, and start to lean back. For many of us, that initial tension exists so much of the time. We expend so much energy watching and calculating, trying to predict. Reading signals in people, ready for anything to change suddenly…preparing to be disappointed. So much energy spent.

We talk about trust as something you build, as if it’s a structure or a thing. But in that building, there seems to be something about letting go. What it affords us is a luxury that allows us to stop thinking, to stop worrying that someone won’t catch us if we fall, to stop scanning for inconsistencies, to stop wondering how other people act when they’re not in our presence. It allows us to relax a part of our minds so that we can focus on what’s in front of us.

And that’s why it’s such a tragedy when it’s broken. A betrayal can make you think of all the other betrayals that are waiting for you and things that you haven’t thought of, and people you rely on. And you can feel yourself tightening up, bracing. And in the worst cases, you might resolve to trust no one. But that doesn’t really work. Trust is your relationship to the unknown, to what you can’t control – and you can’t control everything.

And it’s not all or none. It’s a slow and steady practice of learning about the capacity of the world – and it’s worth it to keep trying. And it’s not easy.”

Little Numbers

"Heart's terrain is never a prairie, but you weren't wary."

My expectations are low and my walls are high. You were never afraid, though...

Please don't be like the rest.

Metacognition

I'm starting to feel like I am consistently at war with myself about what is underachieving, what is good enough, what is unachievable, and where it is plausible to fall in between...and the only time that I don't worry about it is when I am thoughtlessly drifting through nothing productive at all. Why is it that we feel most unconcerned and "worry free" when we are accomplishing absolutely nothing? Why is it that my outlets are so stagnant and so selfish? Could I not, instead, feel relaxed because I am achieving something, because I am causing some sort of change, or because I have made some step (no matter how small) forward? Instead, I focus my energy on things I know I have control over - I run, I read, I cook...these things don't do anything for anyone else, but they are things that I know I can face and complete without too much effort.

I have never been ok with being "fine" or "adequate" at things, and I am beginning to wonder where this seemingly productive quality turned me into someone who is afraid to try something new. I have begun to see the world in a way that incentivizes not trying to make a difference because I am so afraid that I will not be the best, or that I will fall short of the top. It's important to note here that I am not trying to be reasonable - I am fully aware of the fact that these sentiments are selfish, irrational, and immature. But if I can cognitively understand that, then why can't I change it, and why is it still debilitating me? When did I decide to opt for normalcy rather than a possibly failed attempt at something more, and how do I go back?

And still, I can't help but turn this around in my head as I write, and think about what my response would be if someone else had written it. Pick yourself up; you are crying about things only you can fix. Letting the past dictate your future is weak, and will not be tolerated.