Little posts, scattered in the dirt

This particular reflection has been simmering on a back burner since I turned 24 in September.

I finally started going out on the town after my cousin brought me to a concert in Billings. He reminded me how his life changed when he did the things enjoyed instead of the things he felt like he should enjoy.

I decided to just start buying tickets for myself instead of waiting. In so doing, friends have found me and I kept going out until I signed up for a professional licensing exam that forced me indoors and deep into books.

Meanwhile, my new friends clamored for me to join in so many more excursions!

And how thankful I've been to find a regular group of good people.

Between going out and studying, I've been almost entirely away from writing since November. 

I've spent time and money and time again away from my art and expression. The end of studying left space for ways of spending my money to spill in. Considering myself a writer, the lack of writing has been different.

I can't tell if I miss the writing, though. I'd been writing for proud reasons, for selfish and self-interested means. Self-preservation, immortality. To hang on to time, and in so doing, miss the day. Since putting it down, I've been noticing the minutes move faster and with richer colors.

So I say this: 

Let the arguments go.

Remind yourself of outer space and death however you can.

Look back to life, give names to things. Listen to them, be always curious because you can never fully understand.

Watch animals who do not worry, just as you watch the plants. Look how great they are. Products of the healthy soil around them. Focus on the music around them and around you. Do not try and bend the spoon. That is impossible. Only try and realize the truth.

There is not always something to seize. Do not chase so much as listen.

Add goodness to your life. Burn yourself out if you have to, but learn how to rest. It looks different every time. When your life is full, pay attention to what falls away, notice what you miss, leave behind what you do not.

Almost nobody reading this should find use in it, but maybe comfort. These things I have found for myself and yours will (or have) come when it is time.

Until then, if you are here, be lost in my mirror with me. My muse speaks faster than my hands can move and I have grown out of the idea that my words will immortalize my personhood. They are only as lasting and useful birdsong. 

I resent how puddly and stagnant the pride of writerhood becomes. The moment it shifts from expression to selfish ambition. When I am no longer welcome with that muse. 

I spin about the delivery of envelopes. Writing absent replies instead of inspired truths. I believe myself to be too self-involved and fear that I will always misunderstand the people I meet, just as I fear they misunderstand me. I hope here to write into this fear. Embrace it. To write outside and see myself or have others see themselves in me. I believe in so doing, I can be soil, and see myself as soil.

Now I want to go forward, craft these as little posts for anyone who is traveling behind me.

On 23: Be kind, look outward

On having been 23:

I thought myself to be most important person
I thought I sucked
I was very disappointed in myself for sucking, and remind myself that it's a big deal because of how important I am.

I made a sport of escaping my wandering mind every night before bed in order to fall asleep. The game involved suppressing creative capacities and ambitions that trigger worry and wonder right before bed in order to fall asleep in time to wake up rested. Healthy sleep was dullness of mind. Wonder and creativity left me weary and feeling irresponsible.

Learning has been among my chief joys, but it seems to pull more energy out of me. Does it bring me energy? Does a lazy day recharge batteries or sap strength? I. DO. NOT. KNOW.

I've been anxious to have wasted my time. Whether I'm working too hard or planning too much or being entirely too distracted, at the end of every day, I think of all the ways I could have spent my time. I've believed that using those infinite counts of regret will improve the future through reflection and self-discipline.

So I budgeted my adolescence to last until I'm 37. That no matter what, my time until then will be wasted, so I should just be in the middle of every wasted minute instead of shepherding them into responsible hours.
Offering myself such a wealth of otherwise fleeting time comforts me, and I hope will cultivate a more genuine person.

Life is not pretty. I find it easy to plan for life experiences to be glamorous, but I must believe it is beautiful mostly in a muddy and lonely way. That perspective leaves me feeling sad and I tell myself I'm wrong for being so dark, and that I should cheer up and turn the lights on.

With all that I have and all I am capable of, I firmly believe that I have been living my life incorrectly.

I've kept myself hungry and cheap and indoors and too proud for help. This internal passive-aggression is now evidence to me that I have been neglecting or punishing my inner-child.

How would I treat a child in this house? Certainly much better than I've treated myself. I'd take the child out for ice cream, have only good listening, embrace sadness but discourage moping, and encourage healthy expression, engagement, activity. I would be proud to see a child reading, learning, going outside, or meeting with friends. Even finding a good spot to ride a bike to see the sunset.