I was so young. Foolish young. Idealistic young. But my world seemed filled with possibilities of anything and nothing; it was safe and exciting. I was so young.
I may have come into myself at 36. Although, it also pushed so much out, trying to fit properly within the realm of my narrowing perception. Yet we all still experience emotions, they are driven by this new belief that what we have in front of us is so much more important; vital life coming at us in neutrals and grays, no longer a prism of wild, vibrant, shooting stars moving at speeds beyond our consciousness, or attention span, it’s hard to say at times really. But so little matters the way it once did and I’m not sure if I’m wiser or I just don’t care.
Is this adulthood? I sat at the table with Paul and my family today eating brunch and opened up about the changes I’ve been experiencing, it dawned on me how odd it felt, how it never used to feel this odd really, to talk so personally to my family about my life. I thought we did once, but maybe I’m remembering it wrong, it wouldn’t be the first time. But nowadays we’re all so glued to our phones, intimacy doesn’t seem possible anymore. We flutter in and out of conversations at our own will, demanding little of our need for connection. We laugh or we ignore each other and little by little everything we ever wanted for ourselves shatters at our toes, we notice it no more than the open wounds at the bottoms our feet as we bid farewell and walk through remaining shards of our broken dreams. How badly we need connection and I can’t obtain it from the people I once most depended on it for.
I wonder if this was all my doing. Years of pushing people away, perhaps I put a giant wall between us and I can’t seem to break it down no matter how hard I try. I grew to understand what a truly lonely life that was, but perhaps far too late.
I see an aging woman when I look in the mirror and it scares me.
Perhaps I’m overreacting, but I want to write more than I ramble, and I want to make beautiful music, not just listen to it, and I want to go into my moments where I am uninterrupted with an intention. But my brain wanders like a blind girl lost in the woods, it’s not graceful and fluid, but rather hopeless in their findings, reaching desperately for the trails of thoughts that came before, but seeing and feeling nothing. And life moves so quickly, I want to lay down and clock out of all of it; to let it happen because I’m so fucking tired of pushing and searching, thrashing against the current then wondering why I'm not going anywhere.
