I sit here sitting in the stillness of an almost empty house listening to the dulcet grooves of Cafe Del Mar. The pleasant sea of sound pouring out of my laptop speakers soothes, if only figuratively speaking, my aching body. I only moments ago finished a conversation with a dear friend 'L' about the insanity going on in the world today... volcanics and shaking earth aside.
We worry incessantly about what is in store for us, we almost always forget to have a good time. This is a tragedy. L's issues have the potential to impact on her future, meanwhile I have only just realised the importance of taking better care of myself.
Like all of my friends, L is brilliant in her own right and will excel in anything she chooses. The only thing is... she, like the rest of us, isn't living for herself most of the time. As hard as we all try to get what we want in life, there is always something else that requires our attention, our energy and a small piece of ourselves. It is because of this that our minds develop a way of holding us back. Ergo, our predisposition to overthink.
For all intensive purposes I have a pretty full plate, I work too much (according to my family and friends), I want to do well at my studies (contrary popular belief, yes, this is true), and other family commitments. Anyone would say that's fair enough and I tend to agree. The only thing is, the drawback, the completely obvious truth is... I/we can't do EVERYTHING. As hard as we may try.
This little coin-dropped while I was at my sister's casa. Parked in one of those fold-up picnic chair contraptions, I was surrounded by doting mothers, newlyweds, not-so-newly-weds, and a smattering of bouncing bubs that chewed anything within reach. I was at the mother of all domesticated gatherings. I was at a Tupperware party. I know.
I sat there thinking about the myriad of things that I could have been doing at that moment. My magazine ideas about my friend's charity event, my assignments for class due this week, my laundry, the fact that I need to repaint my nails and my next paycheck.
I watched with a mild thunderstorm in my skull while clipboards and glorified lunch boxes were passed around for order. At that precise moment one thing popped into my head, the signage plastered on the walls at work. The faux fifties propaganda that we have, pictures of women in swingin' attire promoting that "real" women stay home and cook for their husbands while looking utterly fabulous.
While this isn't the visage that unfolded before me, I felt as though I had landed on an alien planet. All of it seemed so foreign to me. I could not fathom the excitement these women had, nor do I think I had anything in common with any of them. So I asked myself what do I really have to talk about with these people. The answer. Not alot. The truth is I was there for my sister.
I couldn't comprehend the motivations of a bunch of women to sit around and talk about babies, weddings, shoes and plastic-ware. Perhaps I am the alien. Is it possible that my brain is wired the wrong way? Why do I have no interest in preserving my sandwiches till the end of days?Why do I not have any interest in settling down with a stranger and producing a mess of children? I asked myself out of boredom, or it was the fact I didn't even really know any of the women there apart from a handful, including my sisters.
The thought occurred to me that mayhaps this social practice was a momentary vacation from their own lives. Work, rest, play, relationship issues and paying bills. I wouldn't know, my idea of such an evacuation from real life is a concert venue with monster speakers, a rad band and good people to keep me company when the show's over.
It wasn't long before the blacksmith residing in my cranium started banging away more and more aggressively. I observed silently, like a researcher watching an endangered species of something-or-other the social ritual for what it was.
It was just a gathering of folks who didn't want to be nothing on a Sunday afternoon, folks that wanted to be around friendly faces and imbibe a little happy juice. The Tupperware was just an excuse. Everything else was merely my mind needlessly over analyzing something so simple.
The passed few weeks or so have taken their toll on my brain, my bones and most assuredly my sanity. Just ask the dear Dr Iz and the vials of my blood he's got tucked away in a pathology lab somewhere. Test results came back - I'm fine, if only a little exhausted. Needless to say I didn't stay at the domestic convention long.
And so web-children I leave you with this, what is your mind telling you that's standing in the way of everything else? what is keeping you from all the possibility that your life holds? For me, the only thing standing in my way is myself, although I am working on it. What's your excuse and what can you do to fix it?
yours in thought and contemplation,