The Existential Journey

Ahhh, the written word.  When my whole life is a series of stammered vocalizations and missing phrases and aphorisms, supplemented by the assumption that whatever I have to say could never quite be good enough for the listening ear and accompanied by the feeling that each sentence faces the possibility of becoming the catalyst to my social downfall, I can breathe so much easier in the comfort of verbal composition.

I just spent the last week back home for Thanksgiving.  I've had the song, River, by Joni Mitchell, in my head since the beginning of the trip; as I was packing to head home, "It's coming on Christmas, their cutting down trees, their putting up reindeer. . .";  as I helped my mother prepare Thanksgiving dinner, "singing songs of joy and peace. . ."; and as I sat in the airport, crying over my boarding pass, "oh I wish I had a river, I could skate away on. . ."; and right before I boarded the plane and took one last breath of the fresh Chicago air, preparing myself for my return to the city of smog and internal loneliness, "but it don't snow here, it stays pretty green, I'm going to make a lot of money then I'm going to quit this crazy scene, oh I wish I had a river, I could skate away on, oh I wish I had a river so long I would teach my feet to fly. . ."

 I left behind everything that ever really mattered to me when I moved out here.  I know I had to, if I stayed I would have always wondered.  Most of my life, California was my Utopia, I was so sure that I would find my place in this world through it's ocean breeze and beautifully polluted sunsets, but instead I developed a bittersweet affair with humility,which I did not know until now that I needed badly, and I fell in love with Hunter.  I look forward to the world of retrospect, when I can look back and understand completely what my experience here was meant for.  I know that it's not time for me to go back home yet, one day, but not yet.  If I went home now, within a year I would be restless.  I know that the happiness I seek is within me and no other force but my own brain can lead my thoughts to a place of self-acceptance, maybe even love.  Something inside of me feels as if there is still more to accomplish and explore out here.  Lately, I've begun to realize that it really isn't Orange County or L.A. or my boss or the people I work with, it's not even my financial instability; it's me.  It's always been me; it's my incessant lack of gratitude which dwells inside of me like a desert, draining me of the nectar of contentment; it's my dependence on outside circumstances to satisfy the illusory needs that bind me; it's the pitiful intrusion of self-loathing that incarcerates me.  I have so many good people in my life although I have spent most of it thinking only about myself.  Deep down the love that I need so badly has always been right here, within me, yet, all my energy has been put on the placement of my reliance on those around me and it's really never been fair to anybody; such a heavy weight of responsibility. Wherever I go I'll be faced with the shadows of my own perception and we have a choice to see what we want, although, it's no grand revelation that when it comes to perception, it has always been a struggle for me to see the brighter side of things.

I think that our sense of self was strongest during our childhood; long before we always questioned everything and became too busy to play; during a time where terms such as jaded and disillusioned were not in our vocabulary; when our hearts had not yet been broken and our dreams had no bounds; when we believed we could do anything and our own understanding was ours to enjoy.  Now, I look back at my youth, jealous and sad and I find myself desperately searching for the brighter side that I could see so effortlessly as a little girl, I long for those days when I could see what's in front of me and honor it as it is, rather than what I think it should be.  I find I either think the worst of a person as a means to prepare myself for their judgement or I think so highly of somebody that their own sense of humanity is like a deadly weapon.  Either way, I end up feeling isolated and alone.  

I am on an existential journey to do what ever I can to become the person I'm supposed to become.  I intend to execute this process through simple acts that I have avoided in the past out of fear of discomfort such as, calling the people I care about on a weekly basis, paying attention to how I can make any single person, friend or foe, more comfortable and bring to the table a greater sense of ease in the lives around me.  This is actually more difficult than one would think, when it entails a person like myself.  I find I don't even listen to people when they are talking to me, my mind wanders into the world of A___, which makes it difficult to be there for people when I am not even present.  These are things I don't like to admit.  Now, I understand that these actions resonate the Chicken Soup for the Soul mentality that the average cynic like myself normally shuns, but my intentions are not to "feel good" for a minute, but rather, I am hoping that if I can manage to permanently alter my destructive behavioral patterns through distracting myself from self-obsession and placing the focus on non-ego related issues, it might result in the firm, lasting removal of my head from my own ass.  If anybody wants to be involved in this, please feel free to hop on board, and let me know how it works for you. I will be checking in.