The other day, when I wrote part one of this segment. I was wrestling with a few thoughts that kept nagging me and demanding I pay attention. I couldn’t kick them, so I shone the spotlight on them and felt them out instead, after wasting a few hours trying to ignore them and distract myself from them with other activities.
These thoughts had a lot to do with the stage I am in as a professional human. I took myself for a walk after doodling a sailboat about to be engulfed by a ginormous wave. It felt personal. I could almost see the mass of water looking down at me, hungry. So a walk for my dogs was necessary. At the same time, a good old friend popped in to offer me a personalized song list labeled. “Bernie’s run.” We hadn’t talked in quite some time, so, again, it felt personal. I am listening to it now as I’m writing, and each song feels like a hug for my healing heart.
While I was walking another friend popped in to tell me what I was doing was brave. This friend I’ve spoken with more recently offered me some herb therapy to help me maintain course after losing my baby brother to suicide, along with wise words and encouragement. This individual had taken quite a bit of time and energy toward my efforts recently after I was exposed that I was feeling torn between the path I’d been walking and the one I’d strayed from all these years ago to pursue my heart’s desire. It’s proven a worthy adversary. I feel like the art I chose had chosen me first, and it took the wind out of my sails in the middle of the ocean to test my dedication.
I found myself standing at the edge of a steep hill after those hearts pick me ups pondering what it all meant. I’d asked for a sign or some kind of confirmation to let me know I wasn’t full of smoke and head in the sky over my aspirations and beliefs. That led me to the sacrifices. That list is long. My vanity has faded. It’s hard to care about fashion when you live on hand-me-downs and charitable handouts. I didn’t think I had much pride left, but then I found myself reflecting that I still have a hard time asking for help. So why? was it because my sense of self-worth came from being the strong one others could turn to? Had I turned to that as my identity while stuffing all my feeling stuff into a closet until moments like this where they all spill out at once? One big giant mess. A tidal wave of tiny drops that have added up to a catastrophic event leading me to question everything I’ve stuffed myself into for the last six years steadily.
Before I knew it, I had a pine cone in my hand. I don’t know if it was the beat I was currently tapped into or a last-ditch effort to get into contact with my inner child, but I started tossing them, one by one with all my might. Attaching a burning question with each. Why am I still here? Why do I feel paralyzed? Why am I suddenly internally anxious anytime I pump myself up to write something? Why… Why… WHY!?
I felt a little lighter as each launched with its emotionally charged query. The piss and vinegar that had supposed as though it had gone dormant ignited. My arm throbbed, and I felt alive as I flung the final one to bounce off a lofty pine. I looked around my feet to realize a small circle around me cleared of all pinecones. It made me laugh because just outside of it, they were riddled over the landscape consistently enough to make my bare spot noticeable. I could clear the area further… The thought arose. But I didn’t need to. The questions were gone. I didn’t have anything to add to the plethora I’d tossed into the forest surrounding me.
I looked out into the small ravine under the ledge of the steep hill face I was resting beside. What good is a boat full of gold in the middle of the ocean? What good is gold when I’d do about anything for a glass of freshwater?
I closed my eyes and pictured the scene I’d imagined before taking myself for a walk. Now that my dogs had stopped their howling lament, I could see it more clearly. The sail was spread but there was no wind. The looking tsunami was little more than a tongue licking at the ledge of my boat. At first, this felt like a relief, then it was like… wait, what if that building pressure had been the momentum I’d needed to move forward? Maybe it wouldn’t have capsized me. Perhaps it was meant to lift me and push me closer to shore. It sure hadn’t felt like that… So it wasn’t.
I pictured life throwing up its hands at me like, seriously?! What do you waaaaaant! I just got rid of the pressure threatening to consume you in the most playful way possible. Now it is a problem that it’s gone? Get it together, my girl!
So here I was again. The endless waters around me were placid, calm, and content to sit and absorb it all. Just in time to pick up on the lyrics pouring through my ears.
“When all is going wrong and you’re scared as hell, whatcha gonna do who you gonna tell. Maybe a hundred bad days made a hundred good stories, and a hundred good stories make me interesting at parties. No I ain’t scared of you, no I ain’t scared of you no more…”
Thank you AJR for the applicable lyrics 🙂
A boat full of gold in the middle of the ocean. No wonder it feels heavy. I’ve been hoarding. The thought spoke volumes to me. A deep breath of fresh pine air took me deeper. Wow. I was the ocean once. A drop in an endless bucket of water. It wasn’t until it spit me out that I’d realized I’d been drifting my whole life surrounded by other drops content with discontentedly shifting with the wind. Reminded me of a baby in a womb, nurtured and cared for by the body it is contained to. Unaware that there is more beyond the womb walls, its content hitching a ride inside. At a certain point of growth it is no longer productive for the tiny little person to remain contained. At which point its host evicts it to experience a more giant womb.
Why had it spat me out? The ocean I’d been content with. At what point had it turned to contention?
I thought of the gold weighing down my vessel, and it struck me. I’d experienced a different kind of sparkle. Gold in the water, and since I no longer saw the aqueous around me as the only shiny thing, it had no use for me, the same way I had no use for the illusion of safety it provided. Where had the gold come from? I followed the string deeper.
It had come from someone else, resting above the surface in a boat of their own. How had it reached me?
I pictured myself tossing a brick from the sailboat and watching it glitter as it sunk deeper and deeper. The boat rose slightly from the placid surface, threatening to as ripples extended from the point I’d tossed the sparkling clump. In my imagination, I watched the process unfold. With every brick I launched into the ocean the boat lifted after the first few the ship started to move, the sails filled as it gained momentum. Unload and toss it for someone else to find as you go! Go! GO!
I opened my eyes, feeling lighter still, only to realize the sun had begun to peek from behind the heavy bellies of the dark clouds previously unwilling to release their contents. What a beautiful realization. It doesn’t matter if I see the effect my offering has so long as I know that my intention to be of service will land it’s mark. My duty is to catch and release the pearls of wisdom that have guided me to the point in my growth process I’ve reached. Hoarding and waiting for the right time and place will do no good for me or anyone else. In fact, Hoarding them was causing me to become motionless and fearful of continuing my journey through the healing process I desperately need to gain ground in.
With that final insight, I took my leave of the beautiful scenery. Ready to jump into the new task of catch and release. Those thoughts I came with in the first part of this two-piece reflection were the first aspect of this wrestling match with myself.
Thank you for taking the time to read through this journey with me. I hope the concepts offered you something. I’d love to hear about it. Please feel free to comment with personal experiences in your own journey that resonated with my own.