I become obsessed with diagnosing the problem. I plan trip to South America to take plant medicine and meet my soul parts. I listen to mediations on you tube. I swim in the ocean at dawn. I take up tapping as a means to distract myself from myself. I make lemonade. I count the waves like sheep. I wonder what you’re doing.
A therapist tells me that we mistake desire for happiness because desire is actually the anticipation of happiness, and thus when it does not met to our expectations we are left feeling lost and of want. Essentially, what I hear is that life doesn’t fill the whole order of what you asked for, and it’s okay to be hungry.
I count the seagulls in the morning and watch them swoop in circles about a gray wanton sea. It’s high tide so everything is covered and smoothed over and made to look new again. I have a lot of editing to do and my tea has grown cold, and I am not sure how I got here at all.
I’d like to be able to pull my head out of the sand and look around now and then. I suppose it would be easier for everyone if I could just get right and be happy. Someone tells me it’s just my way of being and that I shouldn’t try to fix it but just make room at the table for all these parts of me that seems to rival one another.
I am not complaining. I am only nervous that I am very near to ruining something that is in other ways perfectly well and good. I just don’t know how to behave well. There is a word for all of this, I just don’t know what it is.