I’m having a contentment depletion problem. It’s not a recent thing, but I also don’t recall it being a last-century bug either. Can’t seem to pinpoint the exact timeframe when I became dissatisfied with myself, my life, the lives of others – ‘cause, I mean, I am not egocentric and I do take my role of disgruntled human being seriously.
The gist of my problem is that “I don’t know what to do with my life.” I do not know. Whatever questions might pop up regarding this, my answer will invariably be “I donno.” If there was an electric shock collar that would activate when I voiced those words, I would totally wear it. I fear though that being hopeless as I am, I would probably become addicted to the friggin’ electroshocks. (Please do not send me the amazon link to where I can purchase such an item…)
I’ve been a train wreck about to happen for some time. Finally, last week I had a semi-meltdown. Not the loud, shrieky kind you’d expect of me. But a mellow, I-am-one-with-the-mattress kind. On a day like any other my brain concluded that the energy required to get out of bed and perform the standard anthropoid functions associated with a well-adjusted person was just way above what my tank was carrying. So there I was, lying in an awkward position (that at one point had even become uncomfortable but I’ve breathed my way through the discomfort until I forgot it bugged me), starring in vain and… just that. I was hoping I’d fall asleep.
Enters Hubbyloo. The guru of emotional support and consolation.
He did make me cry. He did say harsh things that I am still pissed about. He was even threatening in his tone and discourse. There was no arm around my shoulder. No welcoming arms extended towards me. At one point, there were a few loving pushes of a swing as I lay there arguing that the swing, out on the rooftop, in the sun, is not a bed, and he shouldn’t read anything into it.
Even if I hate his method (and he should definitely do something about his empathetic skills – I mean, this is the guy who, when I was crying about my father’s health state a couple of years back, casually and compellingly said that he’ll probably be dead in about five years if he doesn’t stop smoking), I need to give him credit. It worked. I think it kinda pulled me out of the pit I was crawling into.
(AND THIS BRINGS ME TO THE POINT OF TODAY’S POST:)
In an attempt to perform like a happy, gratified gal, I started practicing yoga every morning (among other things). Wednesday’s class focused on our selves. And every single word the teacher said felt so true, genuine and… factual. Yet, for reasons unknown, I am struggling with applying this creed into my own life.
“Everything you need is within you.”
Everything you need to live a purposeful life is within you. The creativity to visualize your purpose, to plan and put it in practice, the poise and confidence to share it with the world, the strength to overcome hurdles, stand by your values and shield your morals from the pervasive influence of the tainted ecosystems to which we belong. The reason this “situation” is not natural for me is, in fact, known. In order to understand that what you carry within you is plenty to provide for a fulfilling existence, you must be aware of what it is that you carry within you. And here’s the glitch. I am so out of touch with myself that if I don’t see the bee stinging my right thumb, I may very likely shove my left hand in the ice bucket.
I am working on it. I am willing to give it my best shot. I’ve got a whole army to guide me through the process: my will power, of course, my life coach, my yoga instructors, and I would like to include my painting teacher as well. Sadly, Hubbyloo is still on the bench for now. Not completely by a fault of his own, although it’s true that his approach is not congruent with my needs at the moment. My own issues prevent me from reviewing his application at this time (he did apply, more than once). On this, at a later time. Perhaps.