Adventures in livingness aren’t just extroverted acts we live socially, or on the road, more importantly, it is about the inner changes we face when life demands that from us. No one hears what threads are spoken in our head, the ones that are flawed from indecisiveness, the molded ones from things long past, the new threads that are unfamiliar, and the ones we need to rip out entirely. This weekend I ripped out the controlling narrative of my spirit and soul; punishing. debasing, self-defeating, hopeless, indecisive, and frightened. With all those dialogues in my head, depression follows, and I had to put an end to it.
It has been a year since the episodic derailment began, emotional pain that splintered into my speech, walk, thoughts and sleep. I stomped on the murkiness with headstrong determination to eliminate this thread. I practiced sitting outdoors in the sun and feeling the moment as new, uncluttered, spectacular. Nature’s aroma, the leaves floating like snowflakes, my cat sleeping, the sunlight on a vase, and the music of Leonard Cohen.
The next day I wrote down all the questions I must answer to reconstruct my life, and then I studied them. Writing is more to me than expression; writing to understand, just as a scientist must write his equations down.
The next day, the plan evolved, as I crossed off the impractical and unrealistic. The new thread I weave, acceptance of what happened, how it ended, and the bastion of beginning.