Where we are in life, where we stand. This is something that always changes, something that’s endlessly moving. A world this big rotates constantly on it’s axis, nearly rocking us to sleep. Sometimes, the majority of us, are rocked to sleep. We enter a conscious coma from the same day to day routines that knock us into the world’s axis, glaze our eyes, and release us as mechanical puppets. My routine is always jumbled up and thrown apart, like puzzle pieces once connected, and yet I still find myself mimicking a zombie.
I have wandered into the sub-stage of life, where you can live contently as long as you don’t desire the pounding of a heartbeat. The sub-stage where you calmly sit yourself down and plan your life out on a mass scale To-Do List, in the hopes of finally feeling alive again someday. The sub-stage could also be considered “the planning stage,” because it’s the quiet, solitary place you retire to when a few too many bumps in the road destroyed your first concrete plan. I know that I’ve retreated back to this stage, lying in wait, because it’s safer here. It’s like taking the sidewalk instead of the dirt road, it’ll take you longer but with less obstacles. I’ve been wavering in this stage so long that I stopped planning.
I began staying up late, smoking, and keeping people at a distance. I did whatever I had to in order to stay here, preserved within a sea of numbness. I was drowning in doubt and failed promises, staring outside the glass window, screaming inside a voiceless room. The rays of warmth from the sun could not connect with me here, they could not lay upon me, they could not heal me. I thought I was too far gone. I’d blocked my feelings from myself to the point where they were so scrambled that I couldn’t even listen to the real ones. I knew what I was expected to feel, but what was I actually feeling?
I was shut-off, walls built, closed down. I continually reminded myself that I didn’t care, that it was too much, that I needed to focus on myself, that I needed to be alone. My emotions were understood when a tear fell every now and again or when my anger broke through… but I didn’t fully understand what I cared about, or why. My priorities had shifted, led by a stiff heart and blind eyes, the lack of love repressed my will to go on. The absence of real, genuine enchantment. The weakness for yearning; a longing for infatuation. I couldn’t say the words and mean them anymore, “I love you” was only a phrase people said to make somebody else feel important now. Wasn’t I important enough to hear it? I blocked it out as if I could survive in solitary forever, blocked from reality and clouded by fear. I wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was, puzzled, I searched on.
I attempted to drift away from the fog and sharpen my view upon myself. What did I need? A few months back I brainstormed some reoccurring pressure points and developed a plan. I needed to lose weight by working out more, I needed to pay off my debt and get another job, and I needed to forge a future career from what College offered. I perceived health, financial, and education to be of social acceptance and decided that I needed that. That’s what we grow up to learn, isn’t it? Isn’t that the socially accepted way of finding happiness? I think the true feeling of happiness is imprinted in one’s glow, that warm, tenderly roasted spark, that engages in a dance with a kindled flame. That comforting sensation that grows like a wildfire within your belly. It’s the balance of love, forgiveness, faith, and the proud smile you wear once you make your dreams come true.
The overwhelming feeling of happiness makes you vulnerable, vulnerable in ways that are easy to explain. It seems that being happy gives you alot to lose. You gain more fear and anxiety because the nightmares you create could possibly come true, you could be left with nothing if you shuffle the board too much. I begin to wonder if I prevent myself from being happy out of fear, of if there is simply a missing puzzle piece that will connect a steady flow of rainbows someday. A part of me thinks that I need a boyfriend in order to be happy because I get that tingling warmth from within when I notice, even an inkling, of romance within a story. It could be in a book, a movie, or even tidbits within my own personal surroundings. I wish I could find the ideal path to happiness before the pavement crumbles beneath my feet, but I have yet to find a paved road.
I started working out at the gym, I paid off my debt by emptying some bank accounts, and my mother found me a tourism course. As I tried and failed and tried and failed at completing these points on my road to happiness, I started to wonder why a gym partner was so crucial to my fitness plan. My partner keeps me motivated, but most of all provides me with company that reminds me that I am not alone. Is that why I desired a boyfriend so strongly? Was it because I longed for a life partner so that I didn’t have to go about it alone? … Why can’t friends fill that void for me, like my gym partner does in the hour we confront our weight struggles? I suspect that it’s because in order to feel like you are not completely alone in this world, you need physical touch. You need skin on skin, a kiss of warmth so you can digest the bad days and a tender hug to dismiss the long nights.
Secondly, I questioned my reasons for getting out of debt. I was happier with money, but mostly because I could buy things for other people. Was this gap unmistakably about my need to help others? I certainly wasn’t any happier when I got the phone of my dreams, a GPS for my car, and tickets to my favorite concert. All those “free” gifts only changed my emotions slightly. It soon dawns on me that maybe I need to consider the job aspect of money, that maybe I just need routine. Routine is comfortable, steady. Scheduled shifts and a paycheck every two weeks on Friday kinda routine. Maybe it is as clear as day; maybe it’s not so complicated after all.
Thirdly, I thought that a smooth educational direction would lead me to peace of mind. Did these College courses have more to offer than strict credit orthodox? I got the feeling that I was the only one questioning it. Anyways, my mom poked at my interest in tourism and found a one year course that would benefit me with a certificate in tourism. Does a certificate mean that much more?
I ponder my life, a little too much. I contemplate what I need and the perception that maybe if I dissect it enough, the answer will reveal itself. I want a stable, balanced life with meaning. I want a steady income, to enjoy my future career, and to be loved through and through by somebody to whom I return the feelings.
I am human… what else is there?
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