Words Left Along

My mind is, well, lost for words these days. Yet that does not mean I am dispossessed of thoughts. I’ve always had luck, in the past, when it came to creativity. Off-the-wall thoughts, ideas, or concepts have always been a talent of mine. It is this very thing that I find tragically absent in my life now. It feels as if a window I once sat in and basked in has been shuttered, or even removed entirely.

I want to say this is because I never sat on that perch alone. Those jokes and quips were always shared. Whether they were there to make me laugh, to make others laugh, or to genuinely explore ideas, they were never born in solitude. So the sadness, grief, and longing I feel may not be entirely justified. Sure, I can be sad that it is not active in my life right now, yet it still lives and burns. That window is perhaps shut away in a room for now—but once I return to a place where there are people in my life whom I find worthy—worthy in their integrity and compassion as human beings—I may again share in the beauty that window frames.

This hole I find myself in is so difficult. It is beyond a rut, and at times it is so deep and wide it almost feels as if there is no depth at all. Like living in a valley between mountains—does one ever truly see the depth? Much like a woodsman may not see the forest for the trees. I know in my head, heart, and soul that I am in a pit. I can feel the shadow of its edge. I often find myself desperately throwing myself at its walls in half-baked, frantic schemes—reminiscent of a dog’s adrenaline-fueled last stand after being lassoed.

These attempts are nothing to be ashamed of. After all, would there be any shame in wanting to be free? I once heard that it is not illegal for someone to escape prison—that Germany recognizes something in the human soul that longs for freedom. I want freedom. I want to be out of this pit, out of this cratered world. Maybe, then, I need to take a step back—stop burning myself out—and think for a moment. After all, no prison escape has ever succeeded without time, planning, and patience.

What is this hole, then? Describe it exactly, as if you were painting a picture for a newborn whose world is far from understood—from the trees to the sound of lapping water. Nothing can be done until you precisely understand what it is that makes you feel so dreadful.

So then, take a deep breath. Close your ears. Close your eyes. Rest your body. Shut off the tap of anxious thoughts and listen to the fleeting, mouse-like squeaks of your soul:

I don’t like where I live. I want to move somewhere cozy, quiet, and quaint. Somewhere with little shops and casual places—a diner, thrift stores, bookstores, a few bars—and an atmosphere of compassion and integrity. Somewhere not too hot, not too cold. A place where leaves turn red in autumn, snow covers the ground at Christmas, and spring brings the most vibrant greens.

I don’t want to be alone. I want friends who can drop by at any time or on a moment’s notice. Families who love each other and act as a team. A partner I love—someone who holds my heart. Someone I never feel judged by, never feel second to. Someone I never tire of seeing every day.

I want to be known for something. I want to be an authority figure—someone in charge of something that does good in the world. I know, somewhere in my head and heart, that I am capable of doing something good for this world.

I want to be full of passion, free to explore whatever interests me at any time.

I need—this is not a want—to be rid of my people-pleasing. I need to allow myself the freedom to pursue my interests without concern for what others might think or how my efforts will be perceived. I am a perfectionist, but it is not perfectionism that stops me—it is my assumptions. My assumptions about how others might judge my actions or the quality of what I pursue.

This needs to end. My desire to follow an interest must exist in a void—free from imagined perception. I need to be free to explore actions, styles, and all forms of pursuit without judgment—real or imagined—of their quality or practicality.

I want to be healthier, but I often see it as just beyond possible—just at the edge. I know it comes down to me: my ability to limit my actions and my food intake. It takes failure after failure to achieve success. I need to get back on that horse and ride it, no matter how many times I’ve been thrown off. I am not a failure. I will keep going.

This is the mentality and intensity required for weight loss. It will be a year- or two-long battle, fought every day—730 days of effort. It requires a level of focus and dedication I have shown before.

So then, this is it. From what your soul has whispered, this is the canyon you live in. This is the foe that keeps you enclosed. But what of the guard?

That is you, unfortunately. And for anything listed to be remedied, you must get out of your own way. When you slip, you must not kick yourself further down. When you begin to climb out, don’t grab your own leg. Instead, set down the baton and cheer—cheer as hard as you can. Even a guard, forced to watch the same prisoners and unable to leave, is a prisoner himself. You should stand beside yourself, helping yourself escape.

But what becomes of the guard, then, once you are free?

If that guard never forgets the power of compassion and love, he will never throw you back into that hole

Originally written on 7/11/2024