This month was about rediscovering and defining who I am as a person in all capacities that I fulfill. I took some time to crystalize where I am heading and who I have become and even though this time wasn’t taken consciously and I wasn’t pushing on myself some program of self-discovery, I still feel like it was there – the control.
So although I’ve been moaning about not knowing what the hell I’m doing in my life or why I am compelled to move and start from the beginning again, and although I’ve been sitting at home some times and thinking how amazing it would be to just have one more night with the people I loved instead of deciding on a delivery, it was all worth something.
Recently, I listened to a lot of music that used to mean something very painful and raw to me, all from a different period of my life, all connected to losing lovers and friends and family in one way or another, and I found that the music was still beautiful and it still held its meaning but the rawness and desperation was not there. The same happened while I re-watched Fargo for my Christmas movie – what it used to mean was still there but I was a new person, being able to accept it as it was and move on.
Some would think this is a great development or that I’m just growing up, but it does scare me a bit that things and art and people who used to ignite a very deep seated passion in me no longer manage to do so. Sometimes I feel like I am merely an observer of my own life – an audience, or a reader who is able to empathize to an extent with the struggles of the character, but who does not actually feel the suffering behind them. I feel emotionally stable but perhaps too stable. The emotions are there but perhaps they’re not totally mine. I borrow from them and I cherish some of them, but I no longer live them.
So although I’ve been moaning, the reality is that I am actually little affected by anything in my life currently and because of that I feel like I cannot write about it. I form words, and I give out ideas. I influence the mood in the room, but none of it seems to touch me. All that remains is to hope that something triggers a place in me where I can feel again the raw, wild, dizzying emotions and I will feel again like I need to fight and not just to wake up each morning.