Nothing's Easy (But is it Worth it?)

Ok, so if you're like me, you're someone in your mid twenties to early thirties who realizes that your dreams may not fit that standard mold of success. You don't want to be a doctor or lawyer, but you still want your life's meaning to help change the world. 

It's getting started that's the tricky part. 

Or perhaps you've already started but you feel stuck in an endless cycle of projects that don't seem to be taking you as close to your goals as you may want. 

And then there are your circle of friends, whose successes leave you feeling proud and envious at the same time. Meanwhile you can count your accomplishments on one hand. 

Or perhaps one finger. 

So you're discouraged. Your friends have all taken a different path and many of them has found success and you don't feel you can talk to them about the road you chose to go down because, how could they possibly understand? You desire a role model, a successful face that has been where you are before but has somehow made themselves into something much greater. You desire some clear cut instruction manual telling you that feelings of uncertainty and panic when chasing your dreams are normal. You desire some kind of validation. Because right now, at this particular moment, you don't know if continuing on is worth it. 

But the world is ominously silent. 

I think this is the part where people tend to give up; when they're casting their fears to the universe, pleading for a sign but getting only silence in return. The hopelessness, the loneliness can be overwhelming. But you're reading the signs wrong. 

"I shall assume that your silence gives consent" is what the famous philosopher Plato once said. He couldn't be more right. Sometimes silence is the world acknowledging that you're doing it right. You don't need fireworks and marching bands to tell you that your path is a worthy one. You only need to feel the surety in your heart to know that this is what you were meant to do. This is what you were meant to be. 

Now here's the hard part. Being consistent. Waking up every morning still living in your parent's house or that tiny little apartment on crappy avenue and motivating yourself to take that one step today that will bring you closer to your life's dream. Juggling work and school or stresses from your home and personal life to sit down at 2am in the morning to work on your passion. Brushing aside the worried proclamations of friends and family who wish you had chosen a more...lucrative/safe path to continue to follow your dream. It will not be easy. But whenever you feel like giving up and your prayers are going unanswered remember Plato's quote. Close your eyes and ask the question inwardly, "is this worth it?" And be amazed at how your heart responds. There lies the truth. 

Affirmation: You are Limitless

This journey towards making my dreams a reality has only one true enemy. And that is me. 

No matter how many people speak negatively of my desires or fill my head with doubtful words, ultimately I am the one who makes the final decision. I am the one who either brushes past the stings or fall to its poison. There is a choice in the matter. I am the one who chooses. This power is mine and mine alone. 

So why do I bother with doubt in the first place? I mean, ultimately I am the master of my own destiny right? I can walk my own path, so why the struggle? It's because I put myself and the dreams that motivate me into a tiny box. I give myself walls and regulate their distance. I allow myself to go only so far before I reach the barrier and when I do, I believe only one thing, that I can go no further. I close myself up to the possibility of success. I am the one who rations the space that I feel I deserve and like a caged bird, I mourn for my freedom. But it is all my doing. I am the one trapping myself. I am the prisoner and the prison itself.

But dreams are boundless. 

They stir the synapses of my brain and push outward, forcing me to see its possibly through space and time. I begin to imagine a future where my dreams are realized. Already they have tapped into a realm I cannot go. My dreams have no box to shut itself into. It has no prisons to mourn in. I could not cast a power into a man-made space and force it to stay. It will reach higher than the walls I build each and every time. 

I think about this and begin to understand something else. If I am able to create an idea so powerful that no prison can hold it, what does that make me? Surely not a person who will let one obstacle prevent me from actualizing the dreams I birth into the world? I create my own blockades, I design my own prison walls and for this reason I understand that without those barriers I would be limitless. I would be able to shatter any obstacles of the world because I've already destroyed them in my mind. 

Clarity

Clarity. I'm in the process of searching for it. Unfortunately, on my quest, there have been millions of buzzing negations questioning my search for the right to be clearheaded, focused...Happy. I am at war with myself. It is like there is a separate entity inside of me lurking in the dark recesses of my mind, like Gollum, searching for its "precious". The "precious" being my positive sense of self. This entity wants to harbor it for its own intentions while I'm the one who tragically disappears, becoming the gray puddle wetting everyone's happy shoes or the unneeded shade on an already chilly day. I'd like to say this war is new but it's not. It's been raging inside of me from the moment I realized that being a "good little girl" does not equate to showing my anger/frustration. It was raging from the moment I realized that being a "joy to be around" did not mean divulging my many feelings of inadequacy or doubt. In other words, it started the moment I realized I had to put on a mask. Dutifully I wore it, smiling when required, being polite when I wanted to scream. I let my sadness fall onto the soft caress of my pillow at night. By morning, I was doing it all again.

The moment my mask broke was when I realized that everyone wore them. My parents wore them, my siblings, even my friends. We were all existing with only a shallow version of ourselves exposed to the world. We showed our true selves to only a trusted few, and even with them we kept certain parts hidden. And within us, wars were raging. These wars were all about self-awareness, self-love and acceptance. It's about finding the parts of ourselves that we hid to make others happy. And loving even the most torn and fragile bits of who we are. Without those pieces, we are lost. How can we ever know ourselves? There's courage in the act of living, but I would go even further and say there's courage in the act of being. Truly being oneself without all the filters. So I've decided to go on a mission, to find myself, and accept all that I am, good or bad. I will embrace my mistakes, celebrate my accomplishments and feel pride in how far I've come. I will be grateful each day for a chance to learn more about myself. And while those dark thoughts litter my mind, magnifying my failures, pointing out my flaws, I won't cringe, I won't run away. Instead, I'll acknowledge it. Give it light, chase the shadows away and let it stand there, without enchantment. It is what it is. It's amazing how quickly bad thoughts lose their power when they are faced head on, when all the worry and shame has been stripped away. You're left with just a thought. A small piece of all that is. And that piece doesn't even come close to who I'm discovering myself to be.

The Solitary Act of Coping.

There is a pattern to my emotional coping. It goes like this:

Feel an overwhelming negative emotion. 

Shuts down. 

Stops contact with family and friends.

Removes self from the world.

Brood.

Hypothesize.

Accept.

Starts contact again.

Slowly reemerges back into the world. 

And the cycle continues. 

I'm not the kind of person who, when I'm feeling angry or sad, chooses to share my sadness or anger. I remove myself and I become solitary. I let my mind work out its response to the trigger of my emotions. I let my body come back to its plateau. Because when I feel those emotions the first thing my body does is tense up. I feel the anger radiate through me. Or the sadness squeeze my gut and dry my throat. The sensations take over and all that I am becomes angry or sad. My mind begins to replay the trigger events and I'm stuck in that moment. I can't get away from it. And so if a person were to interact with me all they'd get is the residue of my anger or sorrow. 

That's a lot to put on a person. 

Especially someone who I care about and who did nothing wrong. So I isolate myself until I feel like me again. For a long time I believed this was the way to function. I didn't even bother to look at it from the other standpoint. How can my friends, my family ever claim to know me if they don't really "know" me? Which is to say, how can they get a sense of who I am if every time something affects me negatively, I run away? I'm perfectly ok with seeing my friends angry or sad. In fact I make it my duty to try and help. I am the shoulder to cry on, the calm voice of reason and reassurance. I tell them that I'm there if they need me. And yet I would rather face the unpleasant parts of myself alone than let my loved ones do the same for me. 

I can argue and say that what I do is a sign of love. I'd rather deal with it alone than burden my friends. But what I'm really doing is alienating the people I care about at a time when I may need them the most. What I do is make them feel inadequate, unable to really understand me or my emotions because I am constantly pushing them away. I'm creating a barrier between my friends and myself. However thin that barrier may be, it's there and it affects the way I interact with them and how closely I let them into my lives. What I'm really doing is hiding my vulnerability. I don't want them to see me hurt. I don't want them to witness my rage. So I hide my feelings and ultimately I hide myself from those closest to me. 

This is an act of cowardice, not valor. I'm afraid the people I love won't like what they see. I'm afraid they'll see me at my most fragile moments and abandon me, unable to cope with my emotional state. I don't even take account of the fact that I've seen them in various emotional states and I care about them anyway. I just assume that I'm not good enough to stick around for. 

It's almost silly how the way I deal with other people doesn't seem to qualify for me. It's as if I view myself as a different species, not quite human, not quite important enough to fully love and accept. It's crazy how I push the people I care about away.  But I think just writing about this is a step in the right direction. I've been hiding too long. Posting my little grievances on my social media site is one thing. Letting someone I care about see me when I'm not all together is quite another. But I will do this. Because they trust me enough to let me see their tears. They trust me enough to let me in when they are at their worst. I should do the same. They are worth that much. They are worth so much more. 

Affirmation: You are the Dreamweaver.

I am a dreamer. I've always been this way. I remember in elementary school my teacher would write on my report card, "a bright student but spends a lot of time daydreaming". This was not a compliment. I found myself feeling embarrassed that she had noticed me in one of my reveries. They were intensely private things, not something you should be observing and I felt slightly violated that she not only saw me, but had the nerve to tell my parents about it.

They were not happy.

So I learned to keep my daydreaming under wraps. I'd focus on my book or on my pencil, faking a look of concentration too deep to be interrupted. Meanwhile my mind was miles and miles ahead of me, projecting a version of me that was cooler than the reality. This version of me saved the world and everyone wanted to be my friend. I'd snap back into focus when the teacher called my name, or if I felt her walking near. She never caught on. I understood that this was the way it had to be.

I learned to hide my dreams from others. They became secret things that only I knew about. I guarded them fiercely. I did this because they were insanely important to me. I did this because I was incredibly fragile. All it took was one word of displeasure and suddenly shame and guilt would flood through me. I didn't want to feel that way towards things that made me feel so good about myself. They were the only things I had.

I'd reserve the really big dreams for night. I'd fantasize about being this incredible heroine, unaware of my own power until I was put into a situation that forced me to act. Once the situation arose I'd bravely stand up and the people who I would save would look at me, some in confusion, others in awe as I faced whatever monster I had dreamed up that night. The monster would never be aware of my power. The monster would always laugh at insignificant me as I walked towards it, the wind blowing my clothes and hair (wind was central to my daydreams. What better way for a child to convey power?). It would always say, You child? You have come to face me? and I would respond with this power so blinding that it would catch the monster unaware. The people would suddenly understand that I was not some stupid little thing. I was important. I was worth something. And I'd end these dreams and slip into a sleep that only peaceful imaginings can bring.

It's taken me years to realize that all I wanted at those moments in my life was to feel like I mattered. My fantasies gave me something reality did not. It gave me a way to show that I had something to offer the world, that I was important. The monsters were not monsters at all, they were the embodiment off all the things in my life that made me feel small, made me feel insignificant and unimportant. I wanted to prove them wrong. And I did. In my daydreams, I always did.

Now as an adult I remember those fantasies and smile. I'd like to think that I'm equipped with a better understanding of who I am and the strength I possess. I've come to realize that as a child I was able to weave feelings of importance into my daily life, even if they were only met out in my imagination. Those daydreams were enough to fuel me for another day. They were the batteries in which I charged myself from, allowing me to withstand the bullies and the loneliness and the feelings of not quite fitting in. I was a weaver of positive dreams. I was able to make another me, another world where I was not the outcast. It's a power I still hold on to today. It helped me to survive.

To those of you who are perpetual dreamers who feel as if they will amount to nothing, or get you nowhere, I want to tell you this: there is great power in the dreams we cast. Don't take them for granted. Don't underestimate them. They came from you, a manifestation of your desires. Create them, build them. Guard them and let them grow. They are yours, and they are worthy. You are worthy.

The Fall, The Snow.

Winter, winter, winter. What am I going to do with you? Your looming presence is visible everywhere. Already the skies grow grey, preparing for your arrival. The leaves shrivel in response to your heartless chill. 

I don't want you to come.

I'm a lover of autumn. The crisp blue skies sweeping above the multitudinous shades of red, orange and yellow leaves leaves me in awe. The warm, almost loving caress of honey colored gold sunlight makes me feel grateful to be alive. And then, when I walk under the canopy of those ever-changing leaves, with nothing but silence to accompany me, I feel peace. True, unequivocal serenity.  I become a little more aware if who I am. 

But everything is eventual. Winter will come. Perhaps this year I will find solace in the gentle cascade of white, blanketing the world. Or maybe I'll find joy in the way the snowflakes resemble softly lit falling stars, illuminated by the street lamps as I walk home at night. Perhaps. We'll see. 

You Are

Theres a moment just before waking up when everything comes together. You know that you are. Not exactly who you are. Simply that, you are. And that's enough. Because in that passage of time before the mind suddenly blooms awake and you open your eyes, all you have is your body, and the gentle rhythm of your breathing to signify that you are alive. Somewhere in the part of your mind where color has faded, and sound is mere suggestion, you dream those dreams that are frightening and beautiful and cryptic. And they simply are. There's no need for interpretation. And for you, this is ok. You are living the dreams' moment. Those sad, amazing, powerful, beautiful, frightening images are filled with flight, and you live them someplace deep within your mind, while your body rests. And you are alive.

And then you wake up. And you piece together your name, and your address. You acknowledge the presence of the person sleeping next to you, or you realize that the house is empty and you are alone. You think about those dreams and you try to interpret. You consult your dream book, or the internet, or a friend who you feel is particularly sensitive to the meaning of dreams. You shower away the scent of the night. You eat. You work. And that's life. That's living for you. You forget that you are. Now you're only focused on who you are. This matters. But not enough. Because you still question, you still wonder.

You still dream.

The Nameless Thing.

My dreams are faceless, soundless things. They hold no weight, choosing instead to settle themselves within the curve of my collarbone or the stoop of my (less than perfect) posture. I can feel them radiating their warmth and encouragement. And sometimes when trigger words pop into my everyday life, I could feel my dreams shudder, as if suddenly awakened by a force too great to name.

I want to name it "hope" but I'm afraid.

So it remains this nameless thing, causing my dreams to tremble and shine and move me in the way only dreams could. And I could feel their energy in the pit of my stomach, where my fear resides, bubbling and ready to overflow. I could feel them in my heart, where this nameless thing unfurls momentarily and leaves me breathless. It's a beautiful terrifying moment.

Some part of me, that believes in the universe trying to communicate and set us confused humans on the right path, believes that these triggers are the universe's way of saying, "Go on, this is yours! Do it! Don't be afraid!" And for a split second, resolve burns within me and I feel light-headed with possibility. But then there's another part. A quieter part. A deeper part, that whispers, "You'll only fail. You'll always fail. Don't even bother. What's the point?" And just like that, the resolve crumbles inside me. I feel angry at myself. I'm ashamed of my cowardice. I want to scream back at that quiet part of me that always makes me feel so small. I want to fight those words that always makes me hesitate.

But I don't.

Instead, I move through the world with my weightless dreams clinging to me as if they are all that's left in my life. And when a trigger word pops back into my existence, I savor that beautiful moment when I feel my dreams shake and shimmer. I smile at that familiar, nameless feeling opening in my heart and I allow myself a brief moment to consider that the maybe the universe really is showing me the way. It hasn't given up on me. It wants me to be brave and take a chance. One day I'll shake off the whispers that hold me back and I'm gonna answer the universe's call.

Worth It.

There are things in this world worth living for.

You just have to find them.

For me, it's the people in my life who have somehow gotten close to me. They've squeezed their way through my silence and my fears and they've burrowed their own little holes in my heart. My heart's like a little honeycomb filled with people who have yet to give up on me.

That really matters to me. They really matter to me.

And they keep me going. I put them in a to-do list in my mind and schedule seeing them for sometime in the middle and end of the week. That way I can ensure that I go through the motions, do what I'm suppose to do and then I am rewarded with their presence.

We do fun things. Laugh, loiter, become way too loud on public transportation as we talk about our exhausting day to day lives. And for that moment, I feel normal. Like I have things to say. Like I'm worthwhile.

And we eat delicious foods and I feel full. It's not just the food that makes me feel this way. When I go home and I prepare for bed and I think and worry and wonder, they are part of my thoughts, pushing away the gray, at least momentarily. And this feels good. I sleep.

And then I wake up, knowing there are things in this world worth living for.

Return

How long has it been since I've posted anything on this?

A very long time. Perhaps too long, since in between that long space my mind has been swimming and thoughts have been stirring that has both elated and terrified me. Thoughts of the future, a fantasy of success and independence has been trumped by the reality of insatiable bills and poor pay and the utter suckishness of being an adult. 

But I've been reading a lot of positive literature like, "The Secret" and writings by Deepak Chopra and I'm kinda convinced that in order to lead a happier less suckish life, I have to believe in it. So I daydream. And I work. And I fill my mind with bursts of color that drowns out the gray that seems to spread into my vision like black oil in a clean body of water. I mean, life isn't that bad. Not really. So there's no reason to cry about it. 

I have The Walking Dead to look forward to. 

Game of Thrones too. Awesome. 

And it's autumn, my favorite time of year. Pumpkins! Scary movies! Fall foliage! Wee!

So it's not that bad. 

I just need to work on the gray fringes of my life. Get some more color in there. Jump in a rainbow or something like that. 

I'll see how it goes.