Life has been moving slowly as of late and that’s not necessarily a bad thing just a matter of fact. I’m actually grateful for the slow progression of life when things are good because they moved even slower when things weren’t. I always beg for time to come to a halt when things are stable, even if it feels boring or monotonous. It used to be that I wished time away no matter what. Maybe a part of maturing is realizing when things level out you want to stay right where you are. Highs and lows come at a great cost to my mental health and I prefer to vibrate somewhere in the middle.
I’ve been settling into a quiet/lonely era and that’s by my own design. I’ve been keeping my head down and getting my life back in order post visitors. I’ve been watching nutrition videos for fun (lol). I’ve gone for long walks with Russ at night. I’ve been scheduling my workouts to keep the seasonal depression to a minimum and give myself a reason to leave the house after work. Over the weekend I went to a Halloween party and caught up with a friend. I spent hours listening to an audiobook and reorganizing my kitchen (pictures to follow). I did a cycling class and made a nice dinner. I’ve kept my social life very minimal for the past few weeks which has been uncomfortable at times but mostly peaceful. The other day, I walked down the street to a small stationary store that I’ve been meaning to go to and bought supplies to start writing letters again.
All in all, things feel wholesome.
I was talking with Carly the other day and she said something that struck a cord with me—something I’ve always known on a subconscious level but maybe not explored further or put into context. She mentioned that she was very bad or limited with discomfort but could handle pain well. As soon as she said that it occurred to me that I’m the exact opposite and this would reveal itself in the coming weeks. I realized that through the eyes of other people, I had surrendered to a decent amount of discomfort in my life and learned to live with it. For example: my microwave, an appliance I historically used every day, has been broken for a year. Instead of fixing it or finding a solution, I just worked around it and made my life harder. Why? I don’t know. But when it comes to pain, I have a low tolerance both emotionally and physically. On the contrary, I’ve watched people like Carly handle physically painful experiences with far more grace than me and vice versa with discomfort. Sometimes I wonder if my brain is wired differently…not in a way that makes me unique or interesting but one that signals that I don’t see things in a logical way and as a result, inherently make my life harder than it needs to be.
I digress.
The other day while I was cleaning my kitchen, I started an audiobook and the main theme is grief. The book centers around the loss of a sibling which unfortunately is too on the nose for me at the moment. I listened anyway. The book I’m reading before bed is also rooted in the theme of grief or loss. Hmmmm. And then, I recently re-watched Fleabag because in my opinion, it’s a masterpiece. Again, a central theme being grief and the loss of a friend and family member. There’s a part in Fleabag when she talks about not knowing what to do with her grief or the love she had for the person she lost. “Where does it go? Where do I put it?” I’ve had this thought, although maybe not as clear, many times. Whether it was losing a person by death or circumstance, I’ve revisited the idea of where does all my love for that person go when they’re no longer in my life? Her friend responds “Give it to me. I’ll take it.” And maybe that is the solution? Passing that love you’re carrying on to the people in your life and rationing it out to make it whole.
Yesterday was Omie’s birthday and I wouldn’t consider this a dark day but it’s one that does stop me in my tracks. It’s a day where I’m used to celebrating someone I love more than anyone on the planet. On this day, I allow myself the space to listen to her voice or sit with the discomfort of her not being here anymore. If I let myself do that more often, it would consume me. Not long ago, I started talking about her in therapy and the grief I experienced when she died and ongoing. For me, this was the person in my life who brought stability and a constant stream of love. She signified or represented a version of a life I desperately wanted to have. She was secure in herself and never withheld her love or affection towards me. She was even handed in her support and constructive criticism of my choices. When I lost my childhood cat Big Momma, I poured that remaining love into Russell. When I lost Omie, I found myself redirecting that love towards Adam’s mom, Lynn. Her energy and spirit are so similar to Omie and her overlap in my life, like Russell, bridged a gap with the loss that didn’t have me carrying excess love for too long. While not every aspect of my life or upbringing was ideal, I can say that when I audit my life and those around me, I ask myself how I got so lucky on a regular basis.
Lynn visited me a few weeks ago and noticed I didn’t have a working microwave. She asked me why and reminded me how much use I get from that one single appliance. Like Omie would have done, she bought me a microwave and wished me many warm meals and coffees. She knew it was Omie’s birthday yesterday and sent me a note with money to go have a treat in her honor. And then, my neighbor (and friend) Isabel sent me an apfelstreudel to celebrate Omie. We sat on my couch and ate it together which felt like the nicest way to spend a gray afternoon.
I’m trying to address discomfort and fix things rather than getting used to them or letting it become my normal. I want to take care of myself in a way that other people would—seeing my life through their eyes. I think I’m getting there and by spending some time alone, I’m doing just that. I don’t have to tackle it all at once which is what I need to keep in mind. Writing, even for nobody else but myself, is also a way I stay consistent and take care of myself so… here I am.
auf wiedersehen!
