Actually, let me go back and correct the first sentence of this whole thing. Financially, I'll be fairly stable again come the next few weeks. The psychological and emotional toll of the past little while, however, has been pretty severe. I'm exhausted. I'm essentially out of love with myself. I'm sluggish. I'm sensitive. My faith and trust is all but dust. My fear is at an all-time high. I'm running out of ways to cope. Self-hatred just becomes a spiral. Positivity for me is a fragile glass pedestal that shatters in the stiff wind of strife. Ugh. Even that description makes my skin crawl. More self-resentment. In addition, I've been afraid to reach out. I don't like anyone seeing me this way. It makes me feel as though I'm an adolescent again--a vortex of thoughts and emotions, deeply hurt and passing it off as tired.
Now I'm too tired to pretend I'm just tired.
What the eff is at the center of all of this? Where did this come from? Why, after so much digging and soul-searching--after notebooks and journals full of scribbles of varying intensity--do I seem to come right back to zero? I'll give you a hint--the word starts with 'E'. More after this interlude THAT YOU SHOULD WATCH, THIS WOMAN IS INCREDIBLE.
Whew. MAN she rocks hard.
Okay, so we're back. Didja' guess the 'E' word?
Expectations.
We are, each of us, incredibly special human beings (no disrespect to the feline blogger community) and some people take that as intrinsic knowledge. I come from a family of wildly creative, brave, brilliant individuals who saw the same spark residing in me. When they told me, however, I didn't take that to mean I could do anything I put my mind to. I didn't take my specialness to mean I would become some kind of famous so-and-so. I took it to mean I had a responsibility to BE those things. I had no choice but to come into my own and step into my place among them. I was burdened with the foreknowledge that nothing that I could accomplish until I was moving mountains was good enough because I had yet to move a single mountain. Every accomplishment that lead to whatever the future holds was naturally a matter of course--so it didn't matter. Missteps weren't simply stepping stones along a never-ending-while-I'm-alive-and-kicking journey, they were grand failures to live up to the world's expectation of me. I felt smothered by the weight of an infinite number of fractured future Dakotahs, shaking their heads and winking out of existence as I failed another math test, or made a goofy acting choice, or moved to Idaho, or had to call my landlord for a rent extension, or had a disastrously failed relationship, or let anybody down in any fashion. This isn't new, either. I used to draw exclusively in ink, and would throw away entire sheets of paper if I botched a miniscule line somewhere (sorry environment.) In second grade I drew a watercolor drawing of a knight in armor, then scribbled over the entire page because even at that age, I wasn't impressing myself enough. Even now I often hesitate to think of my own future because it doesn't feel like its in my hands. No, my life feels forfeit. My future is being played by something more powerful than me, and I'm running out of extra lives.
The scariest part of it all is the question I almost never dare ask myself. If I give up the expectations, what do I have left? Is the only way I motivate myself based on this ravenous clinging to the ideal that I have to be SOMETHING special? ...That if I'm not in History books somehow, I've wasted my entire life? If my aim isn't on the moon, will I even leave my hammock?
Honestly, I think a Disney princess says it best.
So sue me, there's no song called "Fuck It" in the Disney canon.
Here's the deal--trying to chase down this mysterious goal that I don't even know the shape of is impossible. It really is. All it actually provides is a way for me to hate myself for the rest of my life. All it provided was a way for me to feel safe when I felt most alone or terrified. I could cling to this notion like a security blanket and KNOW that nothing could happen to me because somewhere in the future there's supposed to be a book written about something I did one time I guess. I could insta-jump to the assumption that I was a significant thing on this planet instead of letting go of the fear that I might not be. And...sheesh...come on. I might not be? WE ALREADY ALL ARE.
It's time to Disney Princess the shit out of these expectations. The only mission we've got in life is to live HERE and NOW as hugely and honestly as we can. Whatever the hell that means for whoever the hell you are. Like your likes! Live your life! Don't worry about history, it'll take care of itself.
Whew. Goddamn. Thanks for sticking around. You're awesome and I would high-five and hug you so hard.
Love,
Dak (the cold never bothered me anyway)
