I sometimes wonder how a biographer would look at this period of my life. If could go one of two ways in my mind: 1) the transition period in my life where I've decided to slow down and chug the coffee (why would you smell it?), dallying through the days and focusing my attention on what makes me smile instead of manically planning the microbial details of what will get me ahead; or 2) the transition period in my life where I've become aimless and apathetic, stalling on the road map to a secure future to instead waste my time on fleeting trifles and fancies.
I'm not sure what to think of that, really.
The past six-or-so months have been somewhat of a rabbit hole for me. Before this summer I cannot remember a time when I wasn't stressed and unhappy, at least in some corner of my mind. I always seemed to be afraid that something in the no-wiggle-room plan for my life would be derailed. I was always doubting myself, my family, my friends -- human species as a whole, to be quite honest.
Something shifted drastically, though: as in, one morning I woke up and thought, "I should stop crying over Goodbye Yellow Brick Road on repeat and go outside, because it's a beautiful day and life's worth living." Now, if someone held a gun to my head and demanded to know what, exactly, it was that changed, well -- the last time you'd see me would be on the 8 o'clock news.
I've been swinging between blissful, sleepy, and content, with no substantial dark clouds on my horizon to speak of. Not that bad or anxiety-inducing things haven't happened, just that, although my brain may register the event and label it as "mucho unhappy times," the unpleasant feelings that logic dictates should follow never do. I sometimes wonder if this is a true transformation so much as the psychological equivalent of endorphins, the body's natural anesthetic.
While this entire post smacks a little too much of the inane ramblings of a burned out teenage goth post The Cure bender for my taste, it . . . well, there is no excuse, really . . . "this is my blog, so deal"? Yeah, that works.
I was feeling a little introspective. So sue me.
I'm not sure what to think of that, really.
The past six-or-so months have been somewhat of a rabbit hole for me. Before this summer I cannot remember a time when I wasn't stressed and unhappy, at least in some corner of my mind. I always seemed to be afraid that something in the no-wiggle-room plan for my life would be derailed. I was always doubting myself, my family, my friends -- human species as a whole, to be quite honest.
Something shifted drastically, though: as in, one morning I woke up and thought, "I should stop crying over Goodbye Yellow Brick Road on repeat and go outside, because it's a beautiful day and life's worth living." Now, if someone held a gun to my head and demanded to know what, exactly, it was that changed, well -- the last time you'd see me would be on the 8 o'clock news.
I've been swinging between blissful, sleepy, and content, with no substantial dark clouds on my horizon to speak of. Not that bad or anxiety-inducing things haven't happened, just that, although my brain may register the event and label it as "mucho unhappy times," the unpleasant feelings that logic dictates should follow never do. I sometimes wonder if this is a true transformation so much as the psychological equivalent of endorphins, the body's natural anesthetic.
While this entire post smacks a little too much of the inane ramblings of a burned out teenage goth post The Cure bender for my taste, it . . . well, there is no excuse, really . . . "this is my blog, so deal"? Yeah, that works.
I was feeling a little introspective. So sue me.
No comments:
Post a Comment