I have not been in the mood for planting. To tell you the truth, I have not been in the mood for much. I feel … shut down inside. I’m bottling up and when that happens, internal wars begin to wage. I do not like when that happens. I am anxious to shift something. I want a bold move or an epiphany. I want to feel more alive instead of just getting by. I WANT TO FEEL. Except I know there are some painful emotions ahead if I do what I think I need to do. Apparently I don’t want to face them so instead I am numbing out.
I am far too old and too therapized for this. I know better. I need to do better.
I realize some things in my life are not working I’m just not sure where the culprit is. My awareness is heightened but my ability to remedy the problem is lackadaisical. I feel like everything I’ve been writing for months has been crap. Have I lost my voice? Is blogging no longer my medium of expression? Maybe it’s just my disconnect. If I can’t understand my own heart, I can’t write.
I feel afraid to dream of and go after a life I want. I feel limited by what I think is possible. I feel like I found this one true, amazing, wonderful thing and then I grabbed it and planted my feet firmly in the ground in the hopes that I can ward of losing it/changing it/fucking it up. The irony is, by staying stagnant in the fear I will.
Oh silly, silly Sizzle.
I started the year with the intention of practicing the art of letting go. That theme keeps popping up and I keep pushing it back. Sometimes it feels like my life is that whack-a-mole game where I have a big cartoon-y mallet and I’m trying to be so vigilant and on guard so I can whack each new mole that pops up. But I can’t hit them all every time. Maybe I should just watch them pop up with amusement and let the carnival play on behind me?
Blah blah blah. My life is a carnival. My life is a garden. I am full of metaphors. Or shit.
If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to kick my own ass.