So, as is the nature of when you are drugged with Nyquil or alternately sleep deprived from not being able to breathe or over-slept and then delirious from snot blockage in the brain… everything suddenly makes a kind of sense.
There is clarity, I think, when you are down for the count and isolated with your thoughts and far too much of a semi-hallucinogenic cough suppressant. Things just come together.
I’m trying too hard still, to make this life work for me. I’m still struggling against it as though I’m trying to swim against the tidal force.
Finally, I have a plan, sort of. It’s still rough and a little sketchy but the idea is finally there.
I’m struggling because my spirit knows – this life, here in Portland, here in my little bubble, here in my cozy office job, here in my tiny hippy neighborhood – this life is too small for me. I’ve outgrown my bowl and I need a tank. It won’t happen over night. In fact in might not happen for a year or so, but I now understand that as much as I love it here, as much as I am at home – I am also trying to squeeze myself into a space that I am not built for. There is a sadness in this knowing, but also a sense of relief. It’s almost time. Not in the immediate sense, but in the sense that a shift needs to happen and I have been okay with the waiting up till now.
If you have to try this hard, just to find a sense of balance, you are not on the ground you need to be on. I have been looking at this all wrong. I’ve been looking at this job, this time and space as a new start while I get my shit together to be a writer. For lack of a better word I have been thinking of this life as plan B and still not focusing on plan A.
Truthfully, I wasn’t all that wrong but for one tiny detail. This life and job and location is a gift to help me find a framework of discipline so I can get stronger before I step out into the vast current of the Universe.
This is my chance to build my body, my creativity and my craft so I can launch. This job is not an oppression – it’s a cocoon so I can make ready. My house and roommate are not just little joys to keep me mentally balanced while I struggle with my job – they are sanctuary while I make plans to fly.
I don’t know when or how or where to. But it will happen. Now I see that I am holding myself to a standard of functionality that has never and will never be – in mine or anyone else’s best interest. I cannot reach my greatest potential if I don’t let go.
Let go of the idea that I will have to work this job for the rest of my life and put in to a 401K and file paperwork for other people’s dreams. Let go of the idea that if I leave Portland I will fall into a wasteland of emptiness of purpose. Let go of the idea that I cannot make a life for myself as a creative individual.
Let go.
And see what happens.
While I figure out more of this, I will be reformulating my current circumstances to reflect the pending change by altering my disciplines to meet the new challenge. I have no idea if any of this made any sense. If not I blame it on Nyquil.
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