A Daily Dose of Zen Sarcasm!

Keep going

Screen Shot 2018-12-06 at 9.30.00 PM

A photo of something I love: a pink latte.

I have seemingly run out of things to say on here. I write almost daily, over at the neighborhood blog, and I like it. But I have lost my voice– or maybe I never had it.

That’s not true. We all have a voice. It’s just that some of us like to be quieter than others. I like to be quiet –until I am no longer quiet. That’s some Yogi Berra shit right there, am I right?

I can fill page after page of diary entries. Some nights, I stay up really late, writing in my garbled handwriting that makes the letter g look an awful lot like a j– something that, this site tells me, means that I’m on a quest for a good relationship. Preach it, handwriting-graphology.com. You have no idea how right you are, because that is exactly what I spend my time writing about in my diaries: How I’ve fallen in love with dude after dude, and how none of it can be. Seeing it here, next to the blinking cursor –and, you know, not garbled and smudged and heavily abridged to protect the guilty (do you know who you are)– it sounds kind of funny.

Falling in love with love: What a pleasure!

Once my marriage ended and I was left staring down the horizon at the thin, unattainable line of another relationship, I started walking toward the sun, but also sideways. For every step forward, toward that unreachable goal, I took about ten in the sideways direction: Trying to understand myself; taking a million personality quizzes and possibly compromising my identity online by telling Facebook that I’m an INFP and a number 4 on the Enneagram who is Julie Andrews as a 60s icon, and that the Mona Lisa is the painting that resonates most with my persona. I’m also a Virgo sun/Virgo ascendant with a Capricorn moon and a shit-ton of planets in Libra in the first house, which all conspire to make me a back-biting, unemotionally emotional mess who really enjoys rearranging supermarket displays and probably won’t be the one who’ll decide where we go to dinner.

That was a mouthful.

Back to the sideways steps: How can you know what you want if you barely know who you are and, therefore, what that elusive “you” wants? Did those lucky people who met in high school or college and are still together go into this whole relationship thing analyzing things coldly and demanding perfection where there can logically be none? Probably not, but oh! How I envy the apparent simplicity of your lives, from my horizontal do-si-do.

(For those keeping score at home, here is where you could have cracked inappropriate jokes while reading thus far:

  1. quiet until no longer quiet #TWSS
  2. sometimes I stay up really late –I bet you do
  3. that was a mouthful –AND THEN SOME
  4. horizontal do-si-do –I MEAN)

Anyway. This is what some people mean when they say that there are those of us who just love complicating things. This is complicating things. This is staring into the abyss of people you know and possibly love, or loved, or currently blame for your commitment issues, and instead of just taking deep breaths and moving on, deciding that this cesspool is actually a lovely swimming hole and why don’t we all just take off our clothes and wade in the muck because THIS IS FINE.

It’s actually much more simple. When you finally make up your mind, you decide to walk forward and go. You don’t stop to ask for directions and you don’t second-guess yourself. You bask in the warmth of that sun and follow it –carefully, adoringly, blindly– and you keep going.

And when you love to write, you keep going.





This entry was published on December 6, 2018 at 9:32 pm and is filed under Beauty In & Out, Food and Drink. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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