Secondary Gains

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People do some ridiculous things to get attention.  They act absurd.  They make a fool of themselves.  They harm their images, their loved ones, their bodies, and their psyches, all for the sake of recognition.  But we live in a paradoxical world where a little bit of attention is never enough.

Being the focal point of the moment seems to fill just enough of the void to remind us that one was ever  there.  It brings about panic at the thought that we might have to deal with ourselves for even for a short period of time.  The thought is so unbearable, that we can't even begin to process or cope with the idea.  So we do the only thing that's ever abated this particular breed of anxiety.  Something.  Anything, to remind us we're not alone.  We act in ways to remind others that we are important enough to notice, because we can't even begin to remind ourselves of that.

Identity Solutions

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Writing has been hard for me lately.  Sitting in front of my computer on Monday nights has turned in to pulling teeth.  I essentially have to isolate myself, and limit distractions in order to get anything out.  Even then, it's difficult to focus.  About every 1.5 sentences I stop to check my phone, pick at my split ends, or play with my cat. It's become a slow going, painstaking, process, and I've been quite distressed about it.

See, I conceptualize myself as a writer.  Clicking keys to make meaningful materials has nearly always come easily to me.  Writer's block freaks me out.  It screws with my identity, and makes me question my understanding of myself and who I am.  Writing is how I process my world.  Without writing, I feel confused and unfocused.  So, naturally I've been concerned about my most recent bout of writer's block.

Last week I began to ponder my three month long impediment.  Rather than fixate on my overwhelming sense of curiosity about why I wasn't writing, I started to think about my most prolific periods, and I discovered something peculiar.  My best writing is often regarding a topic that has given me a degree of mental anguish.  Bursts of frequent essays on a variety of topics often spring up during periods of my life characterized by transition, identity crisis, and general lifetime turmoil.  I knitted my eyebrows as I processed this information; not quite sure what to do with it.  Until it occurred to me that maybe I'm not writing because I'm happy.

Next Month

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I can't wait for next month.

Lately I feel like all I do is run around.  I find myself to be jumping from one location to the next, in order to keep myself active and connected to all those I love. As a result, my life has been chaotic and disorganized.  It seems like nothing is truly getting my full attention.  All this bouncing around has me somewhat unfocused in many aspects of my life.

While this is entirely frustrating and not my typical
style, I find myself largely accepting of the situation because I know it's all temporary.  I can continue running around, because there is end in sight.

Next month, everything I need and want will come together in one place. Next month, I will be active and connected at the same time.  Next month, I will be focused and grounded.  The distance between all my destinations will be visible next month.