Paging Joy.


Ah.
Therapy.
I legit.
I have the greatest therapist of all time.
For me.
After Therapy, After passing out.  Before rest. :)

I can’t qualify that any other way.
She suits me though.
Gets me.
Gets under my skin.
Pushes.
In great ways.
I chuckle to myself at the amount of times I change the subject.
And I watch her eyes flutter a little in a circle.
Because.
That's just what I do.
Get too too close to that hard spot.
And I like to evacuate.
Toot suite.
But I always leave her office…

Wondering and
Thinking.
And churning.
And burning.
And thoughtful.
And reflective.
And most of all.
Yearning.
To do more.
And better.
To be better.
To grow.
And develop the skills I lack.
Like.
The biggest of all.
The one that I fear getting close to.
Which is the essence of the fear itself.

Feeling my feelings.
Good or bad.

And surprise, surprise, since my parents are emotionally and most of the time physically unavailable…

Most of the time, I am too.
Because.
Well.
The worst feeling of all, is feeling.
Period.
And so if I keep my distance.
We don’t have to feel anything.
And that’s safe.
Slash a secure feeling.
Even though it’s not.

How many times in one day do I do something I don’t really want to do because, well, if I didn’t I might feel bad or sad or mad or guilty.

And then you might feel bad, mad or sad and I wouldn’t want that for you.
Or for me.
And the worst part is, then when I do it.
Because I've made myself.
You appreciate it.
And thank me.
Or tell me how much it meant that I did it.
And well.
I don't have room for those feelings either.
Because.
I can't be that good.
You must secretly hate me.
Are you reading the crazy as it leaks out here? :)

So.
Tonight.
I have homework.
Aside from eating.
 :)

Because.
Well.
Food this week has been hard.
I had a cookie today.
And tonight.
I passed out in the Dollar Tree from anemia and dehydration.
Because well.
Eating is hard and complicated sometimes.
Anyways.

Not the point.
My homework.
Is.
FIND my joy.
Meditate the path to my joy.

Because.
Little secret here.
Teaching isn’t it.
And.
Deep breathe.

Neither is grad school.
Grad school manifested out of my need to be validated in a tangible way that I can believe.
I can't believe I'm skinny.
Or pretty.
Or thin.
Or healthy.
Because even though that might be the truth.
I choose to not believe it. 
But.
A PhD is a piece of paper I can believe.
I can qualify and believe in success of a piece of paper.

And even tonight.
As I sat in that room.
And she asked for the last time I was unabashedly joyful.
I flashed back to the Summer 2011.
Boston Ballet.
And Summer 2010 and 2009 and 2008.
Oh man, 2008.
And 2007.
And the love I had of every moment.
Even when it was hard.
And painful.
And I cried and I hurt.

I only feel love when I’m there.
And so.
I have to investigate this more.
What is my joy?
Where is the source of this joy?
And how do I run with it?

So I want to know.
Where is yours?

Where’s the fountain of joy in your life?
Does it flow peacefully?
Often?
Or is it often hard to find it?

This folks.
Matterers.
Is the journey.
So please don't expect that answer to follow tomorrow in a post.

Though.
If I have a dream of me sailing to Patagonia.
Then.
Welp.
Maybe that is my Joy.

Comments

Popular Posts