Sticky Notes

Just after getting home from work I think:

I just wrote another to-do list today. This one is 10 items long instead of 20. I’m going to count this as a win, and I take progress anywhere I can get it. Am I going to complete any items on the list? Hmmm, I don’t know, but that makes me want to start another list entitled, “Okay this really needs to get done, like, forreal.” My other to-do lists? Oh they’re around here somewhere. One is stuck to my butt right now because I just sat on it, one is in my car, some are at my job, and others are in my Wunderlist (great app) on my phone. Wait a minute, ah! Yes, I have some in my Evernote (also an app) as well. I’m drowning in to-do lists. This is insane and it doesn’t stop. I have a to-do list for my to-do list. I have one I wrote yesterday, folded up, and shoved in my purse thinking that if I shove it in my purse I’ll do it; I mean it’s in my purse. And the many calendars I have!? Oh the calleennddarss. There are the digital calendars and paper calendars because you need both. I use these lists and calendars to map out the hours I spend thinking about writing but not actually writing. Yes, this is fantastic. Don’t actually write but imagine writing, map out writing, write down that I need to write about writing – genius. Can’t tell you how far that has gotten me. After I spend most of the week giving myself a hard time, I sort of sway back and forth between wisdom and curiosity to cope. For example, there is a reason why certain things are repeated, like you know, “never give up” or “read” or “push through don’t let fear stop you.” Crazy cliché and it’s because when you do these things and it completely changes your life for the better, or you experience the type of growth that you never thought you could, you’ll want to preach it too. You have now reaped the rewards of the inevitable and the clever cycle repeats itself.

While standing there brushing my teeth I think:

You know maybe it does take me forever to get ready. I am slow and it’s time to embrace the slug in me. There are reasons, however. Probably reasons I should improve, but reasons nonetheless. I do all this stuff in the midst of getting ready before I go anywhere. So it’s not just getting ready aesthetically speaking. I get ready mentally speaking too. Like today I just did two audio notes (it’s where you pause, whip out your voice recorder on your phone and talk to yourself, or rather into the microphone with something you think is profound, but eh it’s pretty 1+1=2 you know, real basic, real stupid shit), then I wipe my face down with an alcohol pad, and I think of something else to say, something else to write, I don’t know I just think of something else. Everything on any to-do list randomly pops into my brain when I need to get ready. This is the kind of stuff (getting ready too slow) that will guarantee someone for a life of pills, wine, and forever making excuses as to why they’re either always late or never getting anything worthwhile done – oops I forgot straight-jackets (if you would kindly insert straight-jackets after "wine, and..." in your head please, thanks, I'm too lazy to write it for you and would rather type it out.)

While reading The Alchemist (by Paulo Coelho) I think:

Wow this shepherd boy (Santiago) is smart and witty! I love this guy! Sounds like a character I can create. Understanding how he looks at the world, how he observes the people around him, his sheep, his family, and the omens he is told about is fascinating and he gives us an interesting holistic view. The boy travels because that’s what he believes is his Personal Legend and he starts noticing and perceiving  things in a different light once his environment changes. He detects a certain bird that flies around when a snake is near. He becomes aware of certain stars, certain changes in the pattern of the wind when he needs direction, etc. Things he wouldn’t have seen otherwise if he didn’t start paying attention. The book talks about figuring out what a personal calling is and how there are four obstacles on having the courage to confront your dream, “First: we are told from childhood onward that everything we want to do is impossible. We grow up with this idea, and as the years accumulate, so too do the layers of prejudice, fear, and guilt. There comes a time when our personal calling is so deeply buried in our soul as to be invisible. But it’s still there. If we have the courage to disinter dream, we are then faced by the second obstacle: love. We know what we want to do, but are afraid of hurting those around us by abandoning everything in order to pursue our dream. Once we have accepted that love is a stimulus, we come up against the third obstacle: fear of the defeats we will meet on the path.” Lastly, the fourth obstacle: the one that is the hardest of them all, and the obstacle that you’ll have to read on your own one day.

Pull out your pen, grab a sticky note, and put it on your to-do list.

It's Sort of Magic Really

Job 5:19

What is my strength so that I should wait?

And what is my end, that I should be patient?

---

After taking a swig of water from my glass bottle I place it gently back on the table I’m working on, and sink a little further into my chair. As I sit here listening to a music artist named Common through my sleek ear buds that I have to constantly readjust in my ear, I can’t help but stare at the hobo across the street. Oh great, herein lies the beginning of this afternoon’s many distractions. It’s so hot and steamy out right now that the droplets of sweat creeping down my back are truly just getting started I’m sure. This is all worth it though. Getting fresh air outside of my favorite coffee shop is a viable alternative compared to eating fruit snacks and sitting in the bed trying to do work while dozing off every 15 minutes. I realize how comfortable I feel in this environment. The occasional cool breeze feels good on my skin, this oak tree above me is the biggest natural umbrella I have ever seen, and I could not be more content than I am right now because I am home. I am in a space I am used to that speaks to me. A space that makes me feel more of who I am which breeds implicit greatness. I think anyway.

I stare at the grass to the left of me and then back at the glass bottle on the table.

After staring I somehow muster up the strength to criticize my own work again: the stuff I write is boring. It’s the same stuff said in different ways. I am so sick of realizing that and coming to that inevitable conclusion. What is it going to take? A new wine? A nasty fight? A car accident? Great food? A good movie? Starting a family! What!?

The saxophones in this song are so soothing. It is literally massaging my brain. I stare again at the glass bottle.

To spice things up I want to take something simple like a regular day, a regular hour, a regular moment, or a regular thought and expand on it. Elaborate it a little but keep the essence of it there and capture the feeling of it so that there is a universal connection. Oh that’s been done before? Typical? No shit Sherlock? Fine, I don’t really have an angle or a gimmick or something unique to tell these days really. This cookie cutter thing is just not working for me and by “cookie cutter thing” I mean the way I am supposed to tell a story – how if I tell it the way I am “supposed” to tell it, it will make sense to you. The truth is nothing makes sense. LIFE DOES NOT MAKE SENSE. The moment it all finally comes full circle or tenfold you’re dead, let’s just be honest. So why, why I am forced to tell stories that should make sense? That couldn’t be further from the truth. It should be unethical really, and we’ve been told all of our lives that there is a linear way to say things, a certain way everything should eventually come across. Anne Lamott wrote, “Rationality squeezes out much that is rich and juicy and fascinating.” Thank you Anne – sheesh!

I readjust my headphones again and stare at the glass bottle on the table.

I read that identifying with others helps you better identify with yourself. I agree with that truly and I can comfortably make this statement because the more I read and listen to the voice of a lot of these authors that started out similarly, they either push me closer to who I am, validate who I am, or validate who or what I’m not and this is nothing short of genius.

“Writing is about hypnotizing yourself into believing in yourself, getting some work done, then unhypnotizing yourself and going over the material coldly.” – Anne Lamott

What’s a good spot for you these days that puts you in your element, makes you comfortable as if you could stay there all day, and lets you really get a chance to think about your life, work, and dreams? What about a place that will help make you produce your best work? A good way to figure things out for yourself, whether it is to try to push out something great within you, to make things make sense, to second guess things, or whether it is trying to identify with others, is to ask questions – sort of like Job did. Go to whatever place that is home for you, relax, and ask what your heart desires, reflect, see what speaks to you, and go forward from there. Maybe drink some water from a glass bottle while you’re at it – a glass bottle you can stare at helps.

Night Thoughts

I just want to lay here. There is a lot on my mind right now. Here it is; here I am, over thinking as much as possible while pretending to sleep. I can’t stop. Actually, I truly do want to rest. I desperately want to rest, but fighting it only makes it worse. Fighting it only makes it grow, only makes it louder, and only makes it more torturous. I am going to give in now. Yes, I'll take tortuous insomnia for 200 Alex. 

If someone were to walk-in in the midst of these thoughts and see me staring at the ceiling I would defensively and sternly say, “Please leave me to my routine, please.”

I am very protective of this strenuous habit/insanity I have come to accept/love.

I would tell the intruder, “This has nothing to do with you.” Well it does sometimes, but telling them that it doesn’t ensures their disengagement and absence. I think to myself, “Now that you are not involved, I can have my way with my own world, which is exactly what I require as a final catalyst into my ever so clever and in depth thoughts; as a final catalyst into the beginning of a long a restless night."

I lay here pondering and agonizing, wishing sleep would come instead and the most random thought swims by, an epiphany really (as I have many during the night), and that is it takes way too long for certain things to sink in for me. I mean some people just get hit in the head one time and they're good, lesson learned. I get hit in the head over and over again like I should be headless at this point. I wonder why that is. One could say stubborn and another could say compassionate – willing to get hit again; this is for most cases, however, maybe not all. I start searching my soul for some sort of answer to this, venturing within because I figure, I must have the answers to my own insidious problems, I mean after all I create them.  

Then I immediately switch to another random thought as to make the incoherence of these restless nights even more complete. I, at this point, keep going in and out of logic and feeling good about my life, feeling wise and hopeful, then an abrupt surge and utter downward spiral occurs. An awful sinking feeling overwhelms me as I lay there. My face drops significantly into the pillow, my eyes lower in somber and defeat, broken pride, and tears rush down my face. No less than a second later, my mind reasons with me again and I go right back to wise and good, right back to the mind racing; the torture.

Everything happens very fast during this weird and time consuming routine. Emotions intensely fluctuate, revelations storm down, bleak flashes of the future I want float in and out. Regrets, mistakes, and explanations I never got to give or were given. Incredibly seamless transitioning from one incoherent thought to the next, nonetheless, but very fast. Nothing ever making sense, completely thought out, or finished. Or, some nights, everything is completely thought out and I am stuck on one memory, one moment that I work down to the bone night after night that I just do not want to let go.

Humans. Migraines.

Like the exclusive thought of losing someone. You end up daydreaming a lot. So many thoughts start to fill your time and mind after you lose someone. A good laugh several times a day sustains you. Until, well, it doesn’t. I am only my best self and in my best mind when I have silence and plenty of time to think about what I am feeding my mind. I need space, time, and silence. More often than not this is at night.  

Going from feeling to feeling just allowing myself to go where the natural response takes me, just allowing my thoughts to go where they naturally want to go. It is very dangerous yet therapeutic. I no longer fight the sensation of wanting to heavily restrict what my mind wants to do too quickly. Maybe I eventually do end up fighting it but not right off the bat. In the beginning, without explanation or hesitation I want to smoothly flow to the next feeling or thought, I guess spontaneity really is the key to discovering yourself.

Letting go of your ego and the structure that keeps your body tense and mind off course is a slow and hard process. Not to mention I don’t want to do it, but I just do what something other than myself tells me to do next sometimes, and for some reason that always makes me finally go to sleep – “In the final analysis, all things are far more mental than physical.”

Turning 27

The day after 27, I wake up around 8:20-ish from sleep paralysis (www.webMD.com for clarification on sleep paralysis)

“I have one theory that those of us who suffer or who have suffered from this inadvertently are phase shifting somehow and allowing ourselves to slip into another dimension where we are visible and open to attacks.”

Research on the issue gravitate me to this quote. I’ve experienced this two other times, but this time the feeling is a malevolent presence, more prevalent, more terrifying; I read the Holy Spirit should be called on for guidance and discernment in an occurrence such as this. However, I still don’t fully know what it is and calling and thinking about him is always the answer. It doesn’t take being 27 to know this.

As at every age past 18, the moves I make have to be strategic, have to make sense, have to be a step in the right direction; they must not take me backwards; to the side maybe and diagonal fine, but not backwards. But, what is backwards? What is to the side? Maybe these terms should not exist.

Still praying and trying to hone in my ever wandering mind. Thirsting for true answers, true meaning, my purpose; the person I am intended to be – exactly as intended to be. At 27, I’m having a hard time making permanent decisions. I’m in mid-life crisis mode, yet, I’m not having a mid-life crisis, because this isn’t that age to have one, is it?

Society at 27 wants you to believe you are failing right now if you haven’t reached your pinnacle; that you are not where you should be. Some people are mind you. Unfortunately, I am certainly not. 27 makes you think about life’s beam you are still balancing on; ever so steady, in a panic; possibly ever so tiresomely, in a constant cloud of brainstorming.

Fair enough, this is the part where your brain says, “Hey, you still have time…” Yes the word time; and as time slips, I can’t help but to think at my age, at this time, in this room where does the time go? No really, where does it go. No way to get it back, but instead I must overuse every minute of time I seemingly do have; will have; should have? I’m 27 now, it is time I used my time more wisely. Is what I say to myself in disgust and anger; as if to say, “You should have been using it wisely already fool. It is too late now.” Evolving my cognitive thinking and positive thoughts will get me to my beautiful 30’s.

These next three years need to be full of careful planning, meeting strategic goals, and damn good execution. My eyes are more open now at 27 than ever, because I’ve never been here before. Each year that goes by means more to me. Forever weary of wasting time on things that I am not passionate about; wanting to be internally happy eternally. Not just with one aspect of my life, but with all aspects of my life. Why can’t that be possible? What about overall happiness makes it eligible for such impossible achievement? I’m sure these are one of those years you thrust yourself into soul-searching if haven’t already… Let it continue… Let it begin.