…

 

I sometimes feel so confined by my being.

I find myself wanting to be faster, stronger, louder, softer, smarter, deeper, more creative.

But my mind and body have limitations that get in the way of my will.

I think if I didn’t have them I could be so much more. 

Like, I’ve always wanted to fly.  And I don’t mean piloting an airplane, or hang-gliding.  I mean legit Peter Pan-style levitation.  No, I’m not going to rehash the hilarious story of my attempts at reliving Peter Pan’s best moments.  You can read about that here.  But that hilarious story retells the first moment that I realized that I was not invincible, or able to do whatever the heck I wanted with my body.

I learned a similar lesson about my mind in Second Year Organic Chemistry.

I often imagine myself (my inner self, the one that’s limited only by my will…maybe my soul?) exploding out of my sternum (it lives in my thorax, obviously), laying waste to my ribcage and lungs and flying, golden – like Ariel’s voice in The Little Mermaid - off into the ether to do all those things my body won’t let me do because it’s slower, and weaker and hoarser and brasher and stupider and duller and more boring than I want it to be.

But then, of course, I wouldn’t have my body anymore and my experience of all the awesome things I could do without my body would be insensible…because I left the sensing part behind, ribcage splayed.  My body would be dead without that other inner part of me.

So…that’s a problem.

…And from out of left field…

 

Before you read this, you should know (all five of you): this is a departure from the usual.  I will not be displaying my booming success or crashing hilarious failure at culinary and crafting pursuits in this entry.

I wrote this a few days ago.  You might find it a little bit funny.  You might find it a little bit dark.  Before you read it, you should also know that I feel better today.  And that talking about it should be ok.  And that I may need to talk about this or something like it again.  And I might do it here. 

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I have come to the uncomfortable realization that I will never be perfect.

This is terrible news, since I really want to be perfect pretty much all the time. 

I spend a lot of time being disappointed.  A lot.

My greatest wish is to do something great and be remembered for it.  Sometimes, I think I’ll just settle for doing something and being remembered for it.  It doesn’t even have to be sort of good.  It could be something terrible.

I had a thought that what I really needed right now was validation.  You know, that I’m a good and worthwhile person and that I’m actually good at the things I am doing.  But I secretly admit to myself that I would perceive attempts at validation as useless platitudes from people who think that being falsely positive is the same as being kind.

Because I’m an ingrate.

What I really need is unconditional love.  Maybe getting a dog would solve all my problems.

I feel pretty low right now.  Which way is out?  I’m supposed to know this.

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Ok.  Now that you’ve read this, you should know – this is not a reaction to one single unfortunate event.  This is a reaction to several months (perhaps even years) of icky feelings sometimes bubbling up to the surface, and sometimes hiding deep down under my much louder happy thoughts.  But I’m feeling like the icky feelings are getting in the way of a lot of good things in my life, and that’s just not acceptable.  Writing about it helps.  So that’s what I’m doing.