I can so relate to this. The time I was in crisis about a year ago, everything I did that felt good and healthy and grounding- yoga, hiking in the woods, going for walks with my dogs, just felt impossible. Until over time, sitting with my grief, at some point it became less impossible.
(And technically, I’m having coffee and on my phone right now, but when it’s to read things like this and be reminded I’m not alone in these experiences, it feels like it doesn’t count as “being on my phone”. )😊
The magic in these posts (this one in particular) is the deep universality of the human condition expressed so vividly in an individual's experience. Pain is pain. We've all felt it. But to give it voice in such a thoughtful, visceral way, gives others (such as Laura; hi Laura) the possibility to make sense of their aloneness, while they too transmute it into aliveness. You are Kindness. Keep doing what you do. We are all the better for it.
This feels like me right now. 6 months after the dissolution of my first ever relationship, lasting 10 years. I have been running constantly, grasping and feeling like drowning at the immensity of the unfolding space ahead of me. What once was contained and structured, suddenly blown open in an excrutiating expanse. I am still running. I am still terrified beyond measure. But i'm also finding me again. I walked in the woods the other day and I felt myself within rising, coming up to meet me where I was. To tell me it's going to be okay. I cried with relief.
I still feel terrified. There is so much space, so many decisions that need to be made. Or maybe not. Maybe I can just be here a while and let myself catch up with myself. Because that doesn't feel so scary in this moment. To just rest. To let myself be me again. After not being me for so long. After being invisible. After shrinking.
Maybe it's possible to trust life. Maybe it's possible to believe that life is bringing me things beyond what I could ever imagine. Maybe I don't need to work so hard for this whole life thing. Maybe it's possible to not have to live life at a hundred miles an hour, trying to prove something, anything, to someone or something. Maybe it's possible to just be on this heatbeat. Maybe that's enough. Maybe.
This made me think of my own divorce, and a passage I wrote about Loneliness and Solitude as passengers in my car on a road trip. Loneliness sulked in the back seat, staring out the window looking at nothing. Solitude sat in the passenger seat, feet up in the dash, singing out loud out of key at full volume not caring what people thought.
I also thought of my friend whose husband died suddenly when’s he was 48. 25 years of togetherness and now suddenly she’s alone.
I also thought of my new friend, who is a one year widower, after 52 years of marriage, and how he is dancing with Loneliness.
I wonder how they relate to Loneliness and Solitude.
Funny, when I went through divorce, I got on my mat more. It was the only place I felt safe. I think it was a form of escape too.
Alex, I've been thinking about what you said recently about the alarm not knowing whether there is a real threat happening or whether it's just your body's response to everything. I've lived in a constant alarm state, I think, my entire life. It's my default to panic, to feel unsafe, to be afraid. I was also conditioned by a highly alarmed mother to look at the world through the lens of fear. So your words today in this essay reached that place within me that says it's okay to look around and look within and find your place of safety. But also solitude. The section "what it feels like to stay" reminded me of an attribute I believe is one of my best qualities, and it's this: faithfulness. I'm a very loyal friend and I persevere through hard things. I don't give up easily. I stick around. I work through problems. I stay with myself, too.
Yes, your words touched my heart. I could respond with different words describing a similar journey...but no, just one word you said will suffice. Performance. THAT'S the word that describes the life of someone who isn't who they are...yet. Thank you for sharing your journey.
I can so relate to this. The time I was in crisis about a year ago, everything I did that felt good and healthy and grounding- yoga, hiking in the woods, going for walks with my dogs, just felt impossible. Until over time, sitting with my grief, at some point it became less impossible.
(And technically, I’m having coffee and on my phone right now, but when it’s to read things like this and be reminded I’m not alone in these experiences, it feels like it doesn’t count as “being on my phone”. )😊
The magic in these posts (this one in particular) is the deep universality of the human condition expressed so vividly in an individual's experience. Pain is pain. We've all felt it. But to give it voice in such a thoughtful, visceral way, gives others (such as Laura; hi Laura) the possibility to make sense of their aloneness, while they too transmute it into aliveness. You are Kindness. Keep doing what you do. We are all the better for it.
Dear Alex,
This feels like me right now. 6 months after the dissolution of my first ever relationship, lasting 10 years. I have been running constantly, grasping and feeling like drowning at the immensity of the unfolding space ahead of me. What once was contained and structured, suddenly blown open in an excrutiating expanse. I am still running. I am still terrified beyond measure. But i'm also finding me again. I walked in the woods the other day and I felt myself within rising, coming up to meet me where I was. To tell me it's going to be okay. I cried with relief.
I still feel terrified. There is so much space, so many decisions that need to be made. Or maybe not. Maybe I can just be here a while and let myself catch up with myself. Because that doesn't feel so scary in this moment. To just rest. To let myself be me again. After not being me for so long. After being invisible. After shrinking.
Maybe it's possible to trust life. Maybe it's possible to believe that life is bringing me things beyond what I could ever imagine. Maybe I don't need to work so hard for this whole life thing. Maybe it's possible to not have to live life at a hundred miles an hour, trying to prove something, anything, to someone or something. Maybe it's possible to just be on this heatbeat. Maybe that's enough. Maybe.
This made me think of my own divorce, and a passage I wrote about Loneliness and Solitude as passengers in my car on a road trip. Loneliness sulked in the back seat, staring out the window looking at nothing. Solitude sat in the passenger seat, feet up in the dash, singing out loud out of key at full volume not caring what people thought.
I also thought of my friend whose husband died suddenly when’s he was 48. 25 years of togetherness and now suddenly she’s alone.
I also thought of my new friend, who is a one year widower, after 52 years of marriage, and how he is dancing with Loneliness.
I wonder how they relate to Loneliness and Solitude.
Funny, when I went through divorce, I got on my mat more. It was the only place I felt safe. I think it was a form of escape too.
Alex, I've been thinking about what you said recently about the alarm not knowing whether there is a real threat happening or whether it's just your body's response to everything. I've lived in a constant alarm state, I think, my entire life. It's my default to panic, to feel unsafe, to be afraid. I was also conditioned by a highly alarmed mother to look at the world through the lens of fear. So your words today in this essay reached that place within me that says it's okay to look around and look within and find your place of safety. But also solitude. The section "what it feels like to stay" reminded me of an attribute I believe is one of my best qualities, and it's this: faithfulness. I'm a very loyal friend and I persevere through hard things. I don't give up easily. I stick around. I work through problems. I stay with myself, too.
Thank you for this gift, friend.
Yes, your words touched my heart. I could respond with different words describing a similar journey...but no, just one word you said will suffice. Performance. THAT'S the word that describes the life of someone who isn't who they are...yet. Thank you for sharing your journey.