philosophy
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17322
I have a million things in my head but my mind is fuzzy and I’m tired. And all I want is to feel better and be able to do yoga or just get sweaty but I can barely function and I’m so frustrated and so effing tired.
Starting again.
I’m super type A. I’m a competitor. One time, in middle school, I went on a bible study trip with a friend of mine. (I was not in bible study – our family did not go to church. But I was drawn to it, fascinated by it. Constantly curious). The trip consisted of biking and then rafting. I’d tell you where or the distance … or any of those things. But I can’t remember them. I remember biking, but mostly I remember the rafting. For a couple reasons. First, I was crazily competitive and our raft was often far ahead of the other rafts. (To me, this was excellent. To those who wanted camaraderie and friendship and shared memories and who understood that life is not always a race … not so much). Second, we ended up getting pinned between the raft and a large boulder and it took every ounce of strength not to get sucked under the water. It came about because we were so far in the lead we headed to the shore before the landing point and then had to navigate back out onto the river. Anyway. I learned lessons that day. And it has forever stayed burned in my memory. Because one of the camp counselors (bible study group leaders?) lectured me about competitiveness and reading the situation. That winning was not always the thing … sometimes, winning was actually the opposite of the thing. That we missed out on a lot of fun because we were so focused on ‘winning.’ And we (ironically) went on to learn that lesson very painfully when fighting powerful currents and trying to stay above water.
Anyway, I tell this story because it comes up a lot in my steam of conscious thought. Because I am super competitive. And sometimes I lose sight of the fact that life isn’t actually a race or a checklist. That life is a journey and every moment should be savored.
Perhaps not specifically this moment of being sick on the couch, still fighting a fever with poison ivy blisters dotting my forehead in a snake-like line from my eyebrows to my hair line. But that’s not exactly the point.
There are things to be learned in this moment. And there is so much to be appreciated in all the other moments. Friendships and discussions and learning and growing. We are all gifted this one precious life — what will each of us do with it?
I worry that I am not doing enough, I am not reaching my potential. But what is potential exactly? A societal ladder that we are all encouraged to climb as high as we can? Could potential equate to more than momentary gain and professional accomplishments?
I don’t know. I’m just one human. Perhaps I don’t have the power to change the script for everyone. Perhaps I only have the power to recognize that I need to change the script for me. That my potential doesn’t have to fit into a neat box of societally accepted achievements. But it’s hard to remember that. It’s hard to get up and look around at the world and remember that this one life, MY one life, should only be lived for me. Not anyone else. Not any other approval.
So if I don’t win awards or publish books or sit on Oprah’s couch discussing philosophy … it’s still okay. I’ve still understood the assignment.
Xox, g
31122
As I’ve written about in the past, the new year always finds me searching to grow, to molt my old skin and start anew. Often it comes in the form of “self-help” books, philosophy, yoga … Anything that pushes me out of my comfort zone and forces me to expand my mind (& in turn, how I think about things).
Sometimes I could talk about this for hours, but this year feels different – like I’ve molted a layer deeper, and am learning to stop and contemplate before speaking. I’m currently reading “Quit Like a Woman” (among other titles, but this currently & primarily) and what I am loving and finding so fascinating is that it isn’t really about quitting at all. It’s about learning to heal, learning to find grounding and truth and love. (I’m only halfway through so I reserve the right to be wrong about this! But it’s my impression thus far).
It’s definitely educating, and I’ve learned a lot about alcohol, its place in our society, its marketing plus its place and eminence throughout history. But mostly, as the book turned its first corner, I began to learn to see in myself the strength and the curiosity I have needed and called upon to begin to heal myself.
**
Tonight, as we watched the first press conference with the NY Giants newly appointed head coach Brian Daboll, I heard in his words some of the things I’ve begun to learn about truth and humanity. Brian Daboll, as journalists ranging from professional and polite to downright snarky asked some truly leading questions, maintained his message. And his message was simple — it’s about relationships, a shared vision, communication and authenticity.
These are not revolutionary themes. They are timeless. I felt a kinship to Mr. Daboll and he earned a ton of my respect for his openness, his honestly and his commitment to his message.
I love these moments, when things in my life dovetail together – when for a moment I glimpse the bigger, connected, energetic picture.
Xox, g
20jan22
Life is wild.
It snowed this morning. It was beautiful.
I also got the awful news that a friend – a dear, beautiful, powerful, funny, sharp, successful, vivacious friend – has breast cancer.
Juxtapositions.
Surgeries and disease and stress and angst. Broken furnaces and agoraphobia.
But also snow and hitting financial goals. Second homes and new trucks. International flights booked to see family.
Life is wild.
Xox, g
15jan22
I thought a lot about how we all choose to exist in the world today.
It wasn’t a day filled with adventure or anything specific really – it was more an amorphous day of just existing for a moment – a pause or timeout from the stresses of everyday life. A breath.
We drove aimlessly for far too long, sipping our coffees (tea for me) and just talking. About life. Our lives, our dreams, our pasts, our future. We talked about what being back in State College regularly is for me – how it shapes my days and my thoughts. We talked about the difference between what home means for me and what home means for John. We talked about a lot of things. But we didn’t talk about people. Maybe because it’s not interesting to us, maybe because we don’t interact with people regularly enough to have thoughts … or maybe it’s how we choose to exist in this life.
Which got me thinking about how people choose to be – how they choose to interact with the environment around them, the people they come in contact with – the content they choose to consume.
I’d be naive to think that there is no audience for what I consider absurd content. Hateful content. If there are makers, there are consumers. People do not create readily without a need, a desire, a problem to solve. And if content exists for things I consider worthwhile or useful, then the opposite must also be true. And if both the content exists and the market exists, then I begin to consider the people who deem this form of content beneficial. Who are they? What is their motivation? Do they believe what they produce? Has this served them well in the past?
And if I am wondering about these nameless, faceless people, shouldn’t I also consider my own role and my own choices in the same/similar situations ….
Which brings me back to the choices people make in how they exist in the world.
I can only speak for mine, because those are the only choices that I govern. I know what I believe is worthwhile and useful and I know what I believe is hateful, ignorant and pointless. But my beliefs only govern me … and my beliefs can also be viewed as opinions, which mean they are fallible, mercurial and undefinable. ‘Worthless’ is not a noun, it is an adjective and therefore, infinitely subjective.
I’d get twisted about all of it but I’ve been having this thought circle for what feels like years, and I always end up back in the same place. I can only control myself, I can only decide for myself and I cannot control, influence or mandate any other person’s choices in how they exist in this world.
It would be infuriating if it also wasn’t so finite.
Xox, g
11jan22
First, I need to stop blogging as I’m going to bed. Because by this time I’ve completely given up on critical thought and all I’m truly focused on is falling asleep (and staying asleep) for the rest of the night. But Stephen King wrote in On Writing that best practice for writing is to write … every day. So I’m here, writing every day. Like I did last year. Hoping it sticks better this year. Hoping at some point it stops being about getting it done and starts being about having something to say.
The truth is I have many things to say, I just haven’t found the personal discipline to sit down and put my thoughts to paper in a cohesive, understandable way. It’s much easier in theory than in practice. As most things are.
Husby and i have been watching the show “Station Eleven” on HBO. We are caught up and now anticipating the finale on Thursday. It has been a confusing, intriguing, layered, troubling, uncomfortable, enlightening series. As I watch it I wonder – do I have anything this powerful to share? Does my creativity hit this level of brilliance? … No one – least of all me – will ever know if I don‘t finish something. That’s the truth.
Anyway. It’s later than I want it to be but I’m going to bed now. I have written for today.
Xoxo, g
2jan22
I sort of love the new Matrix film Matrix: Resurrections.
In anticipation of its release, husby & I watched the original trilogy. I confessed that I wasn’t sure I’d even seen the last film and couldn’t be sure I ever finished the second. We watched them anyway, because why watch a new film, years in the making, often denied even possible, if I didn’t understand the mythology that was the original Matrix? Film 101, right?
The first Matrix film is dated, obviously, but I know how revolutionary it was and I certainly respected -and quite enjoyed – its philosophy on life, its vision of the matrix we are all caught in. What it said about free will, control and power. The second two were less impressive to me — less philosophy and a rumination on the Matrix, and more a sci-fi story about a city in danger. I wasn’t sure — after watching them — that I would be up for the new film, but it’s me, so I knew I’d watch it regardless.
And then I began reading the articles. Interviews conducted with Lana Wachowski over email, Keanu Reeves and Carrie-Ann Moss discussing what brought them back, what intrigued them about re-entering the Matrix.
I was in.
Because I knew what it meant to lose someone and wish for them back so desperately, so intensely, that the grief never seemed to dissipate; it just clouded life, colored it in a new, inescapable way. I knew the comfort I’d found in early 2019 when Avengers: Endgame was released and -even though it was universally agreed that it wasn’t as good as Infinity War – I identified with its theme that anything —no matter how bad it was — could be fixed, reversed.
I wanted to see how Lana brought Neo and Trinity back when she couldn’t bring back her parents. I wanted to see how her grief informed the story of Neo & Trinity re-entering the Matrix. I wanted to see how she used the film, and all its perspectives, to help her cope with overwhelming loss.
I was not disappointed. I like its quirky self-awareness, the strategic re-casting of key players. I like the new additions and the new observations made about life and living. About energy and belief and faith.
Is it as revolutionary as the first Matrix?
Nope.
But to me, that doesn’t matter at all. It’s such an enjoyable ride, such a beautiful love story and tribute to characters, to a world created and destroyed and created again.
I’ll watch it a lot before it leaves HBO on January 21.
Xox, g
1jan22
Here we are again, at the start of another year.
Life is unrelenting … but it is also infinite.
I’m sitting on our bed in our second home, Avengers: Endgame playing on an iPad, husband scrolling, both of us exhausted from a day that began at a sprint and ended there, with little respite in between. Tonight is not much different than other nights, nothing much shifted from who we were last year (aka yesterday), nothing changed so drastically as to effect how we fall asleep at night. We are the same people, wearing the same pajamas, doing the same things, finding comfort in the same sounds, the same words. Doing the same routines – Lucy’s eye drops and my skincare and foam rolling. Teeth brushing and winding down. Today doesn’t look much different than yesterday because it isn’t.
Time doesn’t work like that.
I make resolutions every year but they are usually the same. A reset, a ‘get back on track’ reminder tied in the bow of a new year. In truth, most of my resolutions have happened on odd days throughout the year, when I’ve just decided to change and just decided to stick to it. January First comes with too much baggage, too much expectation, too much pressure to be something I am inherently not.
I will blog. I will stay off social media. I will ride the Peloton. I will work toward my goals. I will be consistent and simultaneously inconsistent. I will live.
Along the way I will learn and grow. My thoughts on life and the philosophy of living will shift, sometimes imperceptibly. And maybe next January First I will look back at this woman I am now, and realize that I have changed. I will be able to see the sum of all the small parts and hopefully — I will feel proud.
Xoxo, g
Day 361
It’s been a weird month.
This morning, a Monday, I got up, put on the same type of clothing I always put on (workout gear) and began the day. Even though husband has been laid up and living in his office for the past week. Even though there was nothing to do, nowhere to go. Even though I was feeling adrift.
And now, as I sit on the couch, sipping my chai as snow softly drifts to the ground, I feel at peace. Life isn’t easy. Life can be pretty unfair and difficult and destabilizing. I think I front-loaded a lot of my trauma — even MS doesn’t feel bad every day all day. But maybe it all has a little more to do with awareness than anything else. Being present, having the ability to realize that life *can* happen to me, or I can live. It’s up to me.
I am always tired. True. But not so tired I can’t live. And there’s maybe a little more planning and thought that goes into my travel, my movements through the world. But I get to do those things with husby and for that, I am eternally grateful. I get to do those things, full stop. That is a blessing.
Life is about learning and growing. And doing it the best we all can within the world we create for ourselves. I think I’m doing my best. I think I’m learning and growing and finding peace in my own truths, my own choices.
Xoxo, g
Day 314
Every time the seasons change I am convinced that my MS is going to kill me. That I did something to make everything so much worse and it’s the beginning of the end. All the work, all the effort to stay as healthy as possible has been for naught. I have failed and MS has taken control.
And then I remember that this happens every time the weather changes and to just give myself a break from the anxiety and panic and worry. Easier said that done. Isn’t that the truth about so many things?
It has been a long learned lesson that I still forget every few months. Right now I’m dragging, my eyes tired and my brain short-circuiting like wires doused in water. I’m praying that the temperature drops and stays low, because these forays back into the 70s kill me. Every. Single. Time.
It’s a hard assignment – learning how to best live. I don’t think it matters if you have an autoimmune disease or are just human. Figuring out how to live — really live — is exceptionally hard. There are pitfalls and doubts. There are difficult questions you don’t know the answers to. It feels scary and intimidating and never-ending.
And it comes back to a simple question — Who am I?
Not “Who was I” or “Who do people think I am?” or even “Who do I want to be?”
Just … Who am I?
I have a million answers and none. I breath in and breath out, my fingers hovering over the keys. Who am I ….
Tough question.
xoxo, g
Day 70
Sometimes I have moments when I think of younger me, and I don’t feel as though I know her anymore. I don’t understand her choices, I think she must have been a completely different person than I am today. She feels unrecognizable.
And then, by luck or circumstance, I find something I wrote years ago. And in those words, in those sentences and paragraphs I hear myself and remember that even if years have passed and I have changed, it hasn’t been so much as to render my younger self obsolete.
Today, in my pursuit of a more organized office, I happened upon something random — not in a journal and not properly dated. But as I read it I knew exactly when I’d written it and I felt it as though it were yesterday. I saw my more naive self, I read her feelings and my heart beat for her. I thought of a time when the amount of tragedy that I had endured was much less than it is today. When smaller things felt more seismic. When I didn’t fully understand loss.
Time is such a trickster. I feel young and simultaneously, old. I remember days when I felt like I ruled the world — in such contrast with the feeling of knowing nothing – the feeling of being constantly out of my depth. I lost my mother yesterday and years ago … memories faded with time. Pain faded with time. Pain so acute that I feel it in my heartbeat, pulsing in my ears.
In ten years time will I recognize this version of me? Will I re-read my words and marvel at my innocence; will my heart break for the naive joy that still exists within me? I don’t know.
But I hope so.
Xox, g
D5 Creation