Anchorless, rudderless, aimlesss

No kids, that’s not my first, middle and last names, although I can’t say those don’t fit right now. 😉

But first, tunage!

Is it possible to feel anchorless and yet like you’re carrying the weight of a thousand worlds on your weary shoulders?

I’ve spent the last year not feeling like I am entitled to any of my feelings — good or bad — and I am feeling an insane need to emote, even though I know better. No matter how valid I believe my feelings are (and how desperately I need someone, anyone to validate them), conventional wisdom dictates that this has never done me any good, so why start (again) now?

I’m just speaking generically, by the way. I am rather adamant that one should do something splendidly bitchy like leaving meat and fruit in the vents of an apartment she is being unceremoniously forced to vacate. Because, fuck, why act civilized when, say, your management company is telling you your car will be towed on Sept. 1 if you don’t get a new parking sticker from them even though you’re getting an eviction notice 30 days later?!?!

There was a moment when I had too much time alone with my dark thoughts today (I believe it was on the Beltway. LOL), and I almost started to believe this fucked-up little voice in the back of my noggin that told me that I worry about everything because I don’t have any real problems — or, at least, I feel like my problems don’t *count.* (Yes, holy shit, PITY PARTY.)

I was reading some old blog entries and just doing my usual manic processing of a million unrelated events (hello Deep Thought!), and I spit out one correllating factor — I don’t always emote when I need to because I’m always absorbing what everyone else around me, near and far, is outputting. And I end up turning it all inward and otherwise DRIVING MYSELF INSANE.

What a revelation! It sucks now that I see it (theoretically) on paper, but dude — I get it now. And I’m not special in this, mind you — we all do it. When all others are losing their heads, someone’s gotta keep it together, no? Problem is, it’s like the commercial with the raft that springs a leak and, while the guy is scrambling for an idea of how to save his girlfriend from drowning, she plugs it with a Tampax Pearl and the world is right again.

But I hate those screwy-shaped tampons just as much as I hate BEING an emotional tampon, to borrow a phrase from a male friend who always seems to attract hormonal females who just want to dump their problems on him because he happens to be one of those good guys who listens and dispenses useful advice, just so long as you can accept the truth.

In any event, I guess I’m just hormonal now and I just want to feel like I’m actually contributing something to this world and making the most of my time in it and not just waiting. And waiting is a loaded word in this use, but I don’t know that I have enough server space to talk about all the things we’re waiting for (Godot?) and all the things we could/should be doing in the meantime.

Is it guilt that drives us to this feeling of absolute inadequacy if we cannot list 20 things at the end of every day that we’ve conquered? And even if we do, people like me might multitask like madwomen but, while we seemingly accomplish a lot, we can’t give anything or anyone the real level of attention that they deserve. Except for the one itty-bitty thing that makes our right eyes start to twitch uncontrollably — and people probably think we can’t handle anything, if something that ridiculously MINOR sets us off.

Ah, what goes unsaid behind what IS said — talk about the real books and movies and plays that are inside all of us. But will we ever find people who will listen and not judge, who will encourage and not discourage, who will make sure you cast away that weight on your shoulders and not allow you to acquire another layer of worry and regret?

And so we drift from person to person, thing to thing, looking for some level of trust that can be turned into longevity.

But that scares people like me, too — was it Groucho Marx who said he’d never want to a club that would actually want him as a member? I don’t believe it’s that we think we can do better in a different environment — we’re just terrified that this restless feeling will haunt us for eternity and we’d have to suffer with it. Not that we wouldn’t be restless elsewhere, of course, but that doesn’t occur to us at the time.

Yet nobody wants a home more than we do. Ponder the dichotomy — I do it every day. I fear being real because I am terrified of the repercussions. Yet, it sure would be nice to feel safe enough to drop our anchors and not worry about being seen with our guard down.

Maybe that would encourage us to learn how to swim, for those of us who don’t know how already. If, of course, we can get up the courage to let others see us in our uncertainty and be truthful in admitting that we don’t have the faintest idea how.

It’s almost like some of us treat life like a series of motel stays — and maybe that’s just the way it has unfolded thus far and that’s why we’re in that cruise-control mode — in that we’re constantly shuffling groups of friends, relationships, cities and surroundings. If we get too comfortable, maybe we’ll wear out our welcome, so we should go before they *don’t* miss us. Perhaps it’s also like dating and flirting and all that crap — we’ve been taught to put a cork in it and not reveal too much, because people will call us back and want to take us out again to keep learning incrementally more.

And so, we are rewarded for holding back, for being enigmatic, for hiding our whole selves. I find that so difficult — I want to be 100% me, well, 100% of the time. Yet when I am, I always walk away from the situation, wondering if I’d done the right thing.

Perhaps I need to pop more Midol — this is way too deep for me right now. 😉

But I don’t want to imply that I’m fake in any way, either. I hate confrontation in a big way, but when asked for honesty, I don’t hold back. It’s just deciding how to serve it up otherwise, in palatable, dainty little petit-four-sized bites that’s the challenge. Like, I tend to bring up certain issues when it’s really something else (usually ridiculously minor) that’s chafing my cha-cha.

In these small ways are how I test the waters, so to speak. It takes a lot for me to feel safe.

Because that means I’m trusting them with me — with my heart, my memories, my mistakes, my lessons, my evolution. And also with the one thing I cherish more than anything: my soul. Some people save their virginity for someone special. For those of us whom it’s, well, WAY too late for that, our soul is the one thing of precious value that we’ve been protecting in our hope chests.

And when we’re ready to open those hope chests, perhaps that’s the land-walker’s equivalent of tossing out the anchor at the spot with the greatest view of the sunrise. It’ll be good to see what’s inside and how well it was preserved for the perfect time and place, where it could be most appreciated. And, god, won’t it feel good to bob along the waves instead of fighting against them?!?!

On iTunes: Black Lab, “Keep Myself Awake

One Lonely Response to Anchorless, rudderless, aimlesss

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    Alex