Today's not a day when perspective envelope me like a murmuration of starlings so bear with me here, because its bombs away and the flock is off with a whoosh and not the good kind.
For today, it's hard just being. Anyone who has ever been probably knows something about this. It's hard finding yourself, being yourself, making yourself, liking yourself, and realizing that maybe the things you like most about yourself are just things, hobbies, interests, and once those elements are stripped away, what's there to like? And if someone else likes you for those same reasons, they don't really like you, do they? They just like that you play the ukulele and do crafty things and like listening to stories and stutter a little when you get excited. Those aren't you, they're just accessories, ad-ons, and while they inform the rest, they're not it. And please, don't argue just now. Because it's not really that those things aren't substantial, that they don't add significantly to the whole, but it's that, if you really do hang onto those superficial elements as the things that make you attractive to yourself, then you're not really attracted to you, are you? You are environmentally conscious, have a quirky sense of humour and like connecting with people, and all that makes you cool. Right? So the issue, then, is not about anybody else, it's about you. Because when the ukulele playing and the awkward joke telling fade into the background, what do you like about yourself? I use those things as a type of lean-to-external-scaffolding-foundation to myself, and they don't really do what I've set them up to do. The scaffolding doesn't hold up the building, it just lets you clean the windows and fix the exterior molding. It's like looking good, or feeling good about the way you look. It counts for something, but if it counts for everything, then you're in trouble. Or rather, I'm in trouble.
I've begun an adventure and found myself reevaluating myself, as adventuring is want to encourage. It's so scary though, this reevaluating. There is so much at stake, when my external supports of family, friends, familiarity, are all across mountains and waters (big ones), and my immediate, day-to-day confidence comes from myself and my confidence in that self, in what I'm doing here and why I'm doing it. It's all so fragile, because that confidence is built on a blade of grass that sways in the wind, and if that confidence uses its flexibility and core strength, it will stand the breezes. If it doesn't, it's toast, and you end up face-down in a puddle of snail slime, with that voice you've been avoiding shouting “SEE? I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!” Shut up, voice; obviously, I can see this with my own eyes. You're the worst. I'm the worst. Which brings us to the point of the matter. When that feeling of I'm the worst lurks so close to the surface, and so many of those safety nets are furled, what's a person to do to stay clear of the muck, snail-wise? Then again, snail slime is a little sparkly, fit for gossamer fairy's gowns and such.
Of course, that voice is always there, but sometimes it's easier to push aside, or to coddle, or sweet-talk, or convince of some essentially-opposing truth and stride away victorious with shoulders back and toes forward. Sometimes that voice has more sway, and now is one of those times. And I guess the idea is to learn how to negotiate with that voice, let it have its (rightful) place in you without letting it spread mildew and cobwebs all through your little house. Self-doubt keeps us real and solid, but I think I tend to put a little too much store by it.
Traveling gives you new eyes. Forget it. I just want to be home. But not home. I want to be somewhere where I feel happy and proud of myself. Where is that, you f-ing travel guru? Shut up and point me in the right direction, and I'll high-tail it out of here so fast that you won't even see my dust tracks but but for a faint whoof of warm breeze tickling your eyelashes which, everyone knows, are the ones meant to do the tickling.
Perspective, right? I'm full of it.
It's just that, I see this video of myself playing the ukulele with a little kid with an even littler ukulele, and we're singing and laughing and looking so darn cute, and I can't help but think, look, I'm all empty. What could be more scary than that?
(Maybe stick to fairies and their tales until I can see a little glimmer in myself. Trust it'll come. Watch videos of murmurations and hold on to that blade of grass with white-knuckles. What else is there to do?)
Love,
Alex
