Making Sense Of ‘It’
Lately I’ve been lost. It feels like being thrust into a static void and slowly becoming disorientated from the mental fog.
I don’t know where I can seek reassurance since I can’t give myself any…it’s delusional to admit but the only hope I cling onto nowadays seem to be angel numbers. Somehow I trust three digits to equate me out of my way, when numbers aren’t even my strong suit.
I find myself angry at my thought patterns. Why do I put the expectation on myself that I’m supposed to go somewhere in the first place? Why can’t I block out my thoughts long enough to be here? To be in the now.
It’s like I took away permission to enjoy myself on the path to self discovery and surrendered to my anxieties. That pit in my stomach, quicksand where I land. Spiralling thoughts that swirl around like a tornado inside my head.
Is this a good decision?
The right decision?
Am I wasting time?
Where should I be?
The expectations I have of everything I do takes away from the fun of reality unfolding in front of me. I don’t look where I’m stepping because I’m staring, frozen, at the end of the road but my eyesight isn’t built to see that far.
I’m trying to reclaim my power. My self-trust. I’m striving towards the idea that I deserve to exist without a clear vision and cherish existence without putting pressure onto it.
I’m trying not to measure my self-worth by my decisions, external achievements and validation, which only leave me burnt out and indecisive. Robotic as fuck. Like a car running out of miles.
Why do I have to carry myself across the finish line, when death is inevitable?
The other day when I sat by the ocean I knew exactly why it gave me so much peace. The water was flowing, neither here or there, but everywhere. Unconfined in a trance, effortless in that moment and every moment that followed. The waves, so uninterrupted in their rise and fall. Over and over. It had movement, yet it wasn’t progressing anywhere.
That’s what I desire to be; fluid, not stuck. Being lost feels like I am stuck. It’s rigid. I can’t move, I don’t know where to go.
I told myself maybe it’s an age thing. You know, the existential crisis you’re ought to encounter when you become an adult?
I didn’t think it would occur, it was such a foreign concept. Like the stories you hear and shrug off because ‘it would never happen to me’. But hitting my 20s felt so confronting.
You’re supposedly at an age where you bare responsibility for everything in your life—from money, to career choices and the quality of relationships around you—and your actions, or rather inactions, have consequences.
On the other hand, you haven’t outgrown your youthful nature. The one that craves curiosity, play and spontaneity. Naturally you’re tempted to trail off the “responsible” path. The “right” path. The one that keeps those around you comfortable. Whatever that is.
Of course you’re afraid to make a move.
Your decisions can make or break. Suddenly, all is on the line, especially if you’re an overthinker like me. You even overthink your overthinking. It’s a cycle.
It’s the downfall of independence.
But surely I’ll break out of it, and perhaps that’s where true freedom awaits.
I will give myself room to stumble and fall. To go down the rabbit hole, and stay there as long as I need.
I will allow myself to take different routes—ones that scare me—when I’m ready to move again.
I will not be pulled into another direction because that’s where the crowd gathers. I won’t linger when my heart tells me no.
I will grant myself the blessing to revel in the present. Truly, honestly and wholeheartedly. I will make good choices and bad ones, which won’t matter because they’ll teach me things.
I will ricochet between different feelings, people, cravings, passions and experiences, while also holding space for myself to be as steady as I want, when I want.
I won’t shy away from being seen as I flow. I will take space. Lot’s of it.
It’ll be a transcendent journey, not something that can be measured qualitatively or quantitatively.