living in the mind
04/05/2010 § Leave a comment
When you live in your head for a period of time, it’s hard to escape the cloud and come back to reality. For a time, you can’t help but absorb all of the idiosyncracies of the minute, superficial details of life: architecture, the way people dress, the difference in marketing, the way of the people, etc.
And then, like nothing had ever happened, you come back to reality and wham! it hits you like a ton of bricks, not in your face, but on your shoulders.
When you live in your mind for so long, you forget to feel feelings, you don’t know what to do with them any longer, you escape into a numbness, a dark hole devoid of light even on the sunniest of days. Sometimes it takes moments, small ones, of real talk, to pull you back down from the clouds.
Today, I spent a couple of hours with a great friend philosophising about the meaning of life and one’s purpose in it, what it means to travel and to stay at home, why 20-something ladies yearn for something to care for (me) and why 20-something guys tend to shed the responsibility of deep, meaningful relationships, all topics that fell under the grey-area, impossible to pinpoint any one’s general motivations. Perhaps, it was a bit too much to handle so soon from landing on the ground. Perhaps it was the reason that I feel the urge to watch Glee all night, why I feel I need to just feel the vibrating charge of numbness. Perhaps it is the reason most people feel the necesity to just sit and surf the waves of channels and internet blogs.
Sitting in the sun, on the lush, green-grass of Trinity-Bellwoods, I thought my head would explode from too much thinking, too many thoughts and ideas and suggestions and quips. The clouds rolled in and a cold rain showered our shoulders. We didn’t move. It felt good to feel something.
There was so much discussed in those two hours that I barely have the energy to summarize it, but it went a little like this: being content with being happy and finding transcendence in change as opposed to decending into hell. It is the natural human condition to worry of what will come, it is our basic instinct to plan for tomorrow and to learn from yesterday. However, we tend to fail at living in the present, to take-in the scenery and to enjoy the ride. We fail to see the opportunity in stagnation, growth in decay and creation in destruction. We tend to focus too much on the negative in order to avoid pain, forgetting to simultanously seek pleasure.
These past couple of days have been full of emotional ups and downs, of experiencing not only elation, but sheer terror as well.
The truth is I have changed, for the better I hope. I recognized the value of true friendship and the importance of what it means to be good and honest. That those whom I love will be better planners and organizers of where they hope life will go. That there are some, still, who hold onto the fear of the unknown and, what’s even more enlightening, is that some have taken that fear and used as a tool for growth and self-actualization. There is positive and negative and neutral energy all around me and it is entering every pore of my being. I guess I get what I give.
After countless conversations and confrontations, all I feel that I have to do is marry my two beings within — the planner and the wonderer — and make them a single individual: me.
Last night I barely slept. The pull-out couch was comfortable, the pillows soft and forgiving, but my mind couldn’t escape the dream of “what if?”. It ping-ponged between the was, the is, and the what-I-wanted-it-to-be. My body yearned for sleep in a way that ached, a pain that only resonated as that same vibrating numbness. For a moment, I thought I would lose myself forever, inside my mind, away from my heart and my body and my soul.
Then, at 6 in the morning a little ball of black fur jumped on the bed and curled up beside me, in the crook of my arm, feet in the air and kisses on my elbow. She reminded me that humans are not only rational beings, but also sentient livings. She showed me, in that moment, what it meant to just be, happy that there was someone to snuggle up to.
For her, Utopia exists in the moment of a belly scratch.