comfortable silence.
I've been trying to figure out lately why I haven't had much to say. You know this, I've mentioned this before. But it's still happening and I can't wrap my head around it. There are a host of possibilities. There's my new job, which combined with a commute, keeps me of the house 60 plus hours a week. I'm adjusting mentally and emotionally to not being able to parent my kid full time. I'm working diligently at forging a consistent relationship with my husband. We're looking for a new place to rent that is habitable and not utterly disgusting in which to raise our daughter for the next year or two. Then we had not one but two potential locations fall through which wasn't heartbreaking at all. We were simultaneously looking for a person to lease our condo out that didn't skeeve me out, look like she belonged on 16 and Pregnant, have a family of 8 and/or have a history of considering payment due dates as suggestions. We had to then pin-point a person whose desired move-in date coincided with that of our desired move-out date- which was a thrilling process to undergo.
Who has time to write when any energy left at the end of the day needs to go into putting myself through design school? Which reminds me, I've also been concerned with somehow finding the time to complete design school within this century. But still, why the silence in my head? Verbosity is my coping mechanism; by laughing at the insanity and turning my account of past experiences into a parody, I'm able to make it all seem less heavy. If I'm not talking/writing, I'm not coping.
I was driving home today concerned about not being concerned (like a crazy person) for the billionth time and suddenly it dawned on me. I realized that despite the comedy of horrors that is currently my life- I'm experiencing for the first time ever, a comfortable silence with myself.
It's everything else that's crazy.
Most of my material comes from processing the foolish circumstance du jour. It's exactly why artists and musicians produce more when they're miserable. There's more to feel and say. I'm so creative when I am the walking female equivalent of Eeyore.
Let this marinate. This is very new for me. I walk around impervious to peoples judgements at this point in my life because I've accepted the fact that no one could possibly judge me more than I judge myself. It's what makes The Memoirs possible. You can't be authentic and edit your truths at the same time; these are actions that are antithetical to one another. It's very liberating to have this space where my demons become something positive and potentially helpful to someone else. ("At least I'm not as neurotic as she is" or, "Hey, honey, at least your wife doesn't blast into cyberspace the ins and outs of our relationship.") See? I know what you're ALL THINKING.
Because I thought it first.
So why now, in the midst of this glitchy transitional period of my life, am I suddenly okay with me? I've never been stronger, more comfortable in my skin, more willing to see this chaos through before I suffer an implosion. Please don't get me wrong, this is epic chaos that has been unfolding around me for the past eight weeks and I haven't exactly kept the even keel 100 percent of the time, but I'm not running around like a maniac, either, in terrible moods. Which has been a nice break from the norm.
Maybe it's because I am working, finally, in a position where I like what I do. Where finally my education is bringing me to a place where I feel confident and necessary. Maybe it's because Miss V. shines brighter everyday; more hilarious and (not so surprisingly) more intelligent than the day before [like her mama]...
Pardon me while I brush my shoulders off. So dusty.
As much as I'm not used to this cognitive lull- and not being used to things tends to make one uncomfortable- I have to say that it's peaceful. I have been so tired and accustomed to the white noise of bullshit that I didn't recognize the peace at first. I thought my monologue broke. That I was shutting down under the pressure. I was worried.
But once again in unforeseen territory, I have nothing to worry about. All of the craziness around me is working itself out. I'm working the kinks out of the new schedule. Nico and I are a formidable team and we make happen what we will. And little ol' me? This lil' Hot Mama? Well I'm just fine.
More than fine.
Who has time to write when any energy left at the end of the day needs to go into putting myself through design school? Which reminds me, I've also been concerned with somehow finding the time to complete design school within this century. But still, why the silence in my head? Verbosity is my coping mechanism; by laughing at the insanity and turning my account of past experiences into a parody, I'm able to make it all seem less heavy. If I'm not talking/writing, I'm not coping.
I was driving home today concerned about not being concerned (like a crazy person) for the billionth time and suddenly it dawned on me. I realized that despite the comedy of horrors that is currently my life- I'm experiencing for the first time ever, a comfortable silence with myself.
It's everything else that's crazy.
Most of my material comes from processing the foolish circumstance du jour. It's exactly why artists and musicians produce more when they're miserable. There's more to feel and say. I'm so creative when I am the walking female equivalent of Eeyore.
Let this marinate. This is very new for me. I walk around impervious to peoples judgements at this point in my life because I've accepted the fact that no one could possibly judge me more than I judge myself. It's what makes The Memoirs possible. You can't be authentic and edit your truths at the same time; these are actions that are antithetical to one another. It's very liberating to have this space where my demons become something positive and potentially helpful to someone else. ("At least I'm not as neurotic as she is" or, "Hey, honey, at least your wife doesn't blast into cyberspace the ins and outs of our relationship.") See? I know what you're ALL THINKING.
Because I thought it first.
So why now, in the midst of this glitchy transitional period of my life, am I suddenly okay with me? I've never been stronger, more comfortable in my skin, more willing to see this chaos through before I suffer an implosion. Please don't get me wrong, this is epic chaos that has been unfolding around me for the past eight weeks and I haven't exactly kept the even keel 100 percent of the time, but I'm not running around like a maniac, either, in terrible moods. Which has been a nice break from the norm.
Maybe it's because I am working, finally, in a position where I like what I do. Where finally my education is bringing me to a place where I feel confident and necessary. Maybe it's because Miss V. shines brighter everyday; more hilarious and (not so surprisingly) more intelligent than the day before [like her mama]...
Pardon me while I brush my shoulders off. So dusty.
As much as I'm not used to this cognitive lull- and not being used to things tends to make one uncomfortable- I have to say that it's peaceful. I have been so tired and accustomed to the white noise of bullshit that I didn't recognize the peace at first. I thought my monologue broke. That I was shutting down under the pressure. I was worried.
But once again in unforeseen territory, I have nothing to worry about. All of the craziness around me is working itself out. I'm working the kinks out of the new schedule. Nico and I are a formidable team and we make happen what we will. And little ol' me? This lil' Hot Mama? Well I'm just fine.
More than fine.
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