Heavy As Fuck

There are days my mind feels like a sticky, humid swamp; Just…stagnant, filled with Lord knows what. And even though its contents are unclear, it’s heavy as fuck. It feels like a lot’s there. Lots of mud and muck.

There are days I’m not sure what to think, what kind of opinions to have.

There are days that everything is crystal clear and every breath feels like a breeze of fresh air on a warm summer day.

There are days I feel myself adapting against my will, others I stand my ground so hard I could make the earth quake beneath my feet.

And does it mean a thing? Does it all mean a damn thing?

Because we’re all gonna die and turn to dust and explode in the heat of the Sun while the planets, which we name after the gods and goddess of antiquity, silently observe our fate. Because they’re also kind of nothing but beautiful. But when we’re all dead and gone all our sense of aesthetic will be gone so what is anything? And if it means nothing, then so what? And if no one’s watching does it exist?

And even if you could pinpoint my location from this universe to this galaxy to this planet Earth, to the North American continent, to the United States, to my northeast New Jersey bedroom sitting up tired, would my presence here in this exact moment mean anything to anyone? Should it not bother us as human beings to not feel necessary. Nevermind wanting and loved, but necessary? Because what if you grow old and no one cares?

But I suppose no matter what happens, I believe in the Tao and dharma and just going with it and saying yes to life. And I think I’ve become really good at that and if not, then better than last year. But I don’t feel aligned like what I’m riding a wave. My passion and excitement comes in bursts but keeps shorting out. So how can I keep that going? Sometimes my center disappears into the swamp and instead of digging through it and driving myself insane, I choose to just lay down and wait for its light to poke out from the murky darkness.

On my lawn chair with a lollipop in my mouth, eyes closed.

Waiting for a sign as I open one.

A wink with a fermata over the top.

What Is My Bliss? …Really.

My mind moves at a million miles a minute, I swear. I’m constantly thinking about 5 million things at once. Yesterday and today it’s been: What is my bliss? No – really.

I don’t think we’re truly self-aware if we don’t constantly question everything we know, or should I say – everything we think we know.

A few months before graduating college I kind of had this profound, deep existential crisis that spiraled into about a week of depression, which consisted of: I don’t want to do music anymore. I hate it and want no part.

And I don’t know where it came from. Maybe anxiety and doubt due to the fact I didn’t have a job lined up, nor did I want to think about one. Could have been a childish response to a part of my youth coming to a close. Maybe I felt too dependent on it and that scared me. Maybe I was just tired of being in school for so long. When talking (or should I say shouting) to my my mom about it, I kept saying things like, “It’s been my life for so long, it’s like I’m not interested anymore” and “I feel like I know all there is to know, and I don’t know what to do with it anymore”.

I don’t think I feel this way anymore. I actually ended up crying in my room for a long time listening to Saves The Day’s Sound The Alarm, so music did get me through it after all (which I really resented at the time). I am still currently pursuing jobs in the music industry, I listen to music everyday, I still write songs, play guitar, etc. I think I just had a crack-up. But there are days (many days) where I catch myself making excuses when it comes to my own songwriting pursuits: Oh, I don’t feel like going to that open mic today and I don’t want to record this week and I don’t feel like going to that show. I almost feel like I’m sabotaging myself (which apparently really is a thing women tend to do according to Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes). I am I really lazy and harming my ambitions in the long-run, or am I just generally not interested and should just accept that fact and move on to something else?

All my life I feel I’ve pushed myself (or have been pushed) to do things I sometimes didn’t want to do, and sometimes when I did them, I’d feel really glad that I did. But I don’t know what this is – this feeling of hesitancy and closeted introverted-ness. I cringe at the fact at lugging my guitar somewhere. I like performing, but it’s mainly the fact that I have to go somewhere to go do it. And then that annoying question always lurking in the back of mind: Is this really all worth it?

I like doing things if I can anticipate a positive end result. Maybe that makes me spoiled? I’m not sure. But that’s the way I like to do things. But to be a musician is such an unknown. And I might I sound like a baby going on about this, but I’m really battling these feelings. Does it matter at all? Does anything matter at all?

And I got business cards with my songwriter info on them, I got a new feedback suppressor for my guitar. Why not use them, right?

I guess these thoughts are plaguing me as of late because there was an open mic at a place near me last night, and I decided not to go. To make myself feel better, I decided to go to my friend’s show instead which was in the same town. But then as the hour ticked closer and closer, I became less and less enthused and wanted more and more to just stay home and read or something. I didn’t like how that’s what I felt I really wanted. I felt like I was bullshitting myself – I should have pushed myself to go. Have I just been home for too long and that’s why I feel this way? I’m too comfortable here? (For TNG fans: Will Riker much?) I ended up getting a headache and went to bed right after dinner last night, anyway. So maybe I needed rest and I’m just making a big deal out of nothing.

The place I go to has a weekly open mic and I played it at the beginning of the month. It went great. The next week I had an interview scheduled for the next day, so I decided not to go, opting to go to bed in order to wake up well-rested and prepared. Then yesterday came.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is if I feel at peace, is it worth disturbing that peace to go and pursue something that disrupts that peace in a way? See, I hate the idea of wasting my life. And honestly, right now, I don’t feel that I am. But it’s the thought of the possibility that I am that creeps up on me. What if I could be doing more? But then for what? Why even push myself if it leads to nowhere? Do I just think music is my bliss because it’s been constant in my life? What if it’s not? What if I’ve transcended past that and it’s something else now? What if I’m just wasting my time pursuing some childhood dream? What is my bliss, really? Is there something more or am I just following a shadow of what I think I know?

Has anyone felt like this about anything? Let me know in the comments, y’all >>>

Peace and love,

<3-Roe

Meaning vs. Experience

Some days I just want to be content with everything – Be genuinely content with everything and everyone.  But would that be me?  Sometimes I wish it were – just to be so easygoing and positive. Maybe that’s what I subconsciously aim for on a day-to-day basis – to be some likable creature.

I want to be thinner, less insecure, more savvy with everything.  I have this subconscious quest to learn everything, know everything.  I’m not sure if that’s healthy or not.  I’m sure the cons will eventually flare up. But nothing beats a content headspace.

Staying home for the better part of the past four months as been a wonderful blessing.  But as with the equilibrium of all things, there is a darker aspect to the half of the whole.  Once Commencement was over and I cried my eyes out for most of the day, I continued to stay firmly resolute in my heartfelt rejection of society – How it works, how it functions, what it revolves around, the types of people involved.  It broke my heart (and still does) to realize that after all this effort, all this hard work, blood, sweat, tears, and emotional turmoil this what it all comes down to: A job – A foundation for a life, for a type of future I do not foresee myself having because I can’t see past the end of the month, nevermind the next five years.  But throughout these past few months, I think I’ve slowly been coming to peace with it.  Joseph Campbell’s always in the back of my head, telling me to say “yes” to everything – the good and the bad.

So the past few days I’ve been diligently drafting emails and cover letters to send to six different companies.  I know there’s something out there for me.  It’s just my worst fear is to not utilize my fullest potential, to feel like I’m wasting my time, or not being a part of something great.  That’s what I want – I want to move mountains with no bullshit.  I want to mean every word I say and make every action count.  Joseph Campbell says it’s not really the meaning of life we’re looking for at all, rather it’s the experience of life we’re seeking.  And maybe starting now, I’m willing to search for a different experience – One does not require staring at the four walls of my house all day.

Post-Grad Psychotherapy

Does the word “frustration” even begin to cover it? C’mon. I know you’re all with me here.  As the day darkens the pressures and anxiety completely overcome you, squashing you, leaving you in some peculiar claustrophobic headspace.

A job seems so daunting because that’s the springboard into the rest of you life, you know?  That’s the springboard into your future and how terrifying!  How terrifying it is that for a quarter of your life, it all adds up to this.  This is what you’ve worked for:  The sweat, blood, and tears, the sleepless nights and caffeine overdoses. Late nights into early mornings, fleeting friends, the social highs and lows that accompany a young adolescent life.  We’re carted and compacted into an academic system and we’re supposed to come out of our respective institutions like some factory assembled windup toy, walking at an even pace with a frozen smile painted on our lips, waiting for someone else to wind us back up when we run out of gas.  We spend the better half of our lives as a sponge, soaking up as much as we can before someone squeezes us out, takes us for all we got and then leaves us to dry in the summer sun.

What am I supposed to do with myself now? How am I supposed to act? What can I do? What can I do well?  What do you want?  What do you want from me?  Are you really interested in me? Or should I be predicting some ulterior motive? You’re gonna use me, aren’t you? Why should I trust you if you’re just gonna use me? Well, I’m nobody’s doormat.  I can be myself but you’re not gonna like it, you’re not gonna get it – at least not right away.  And that’s the kicker, isn’t it?  Everything takes time.  And it just makes me laugh because time doesn’t really exist.  It’s a human organizational construct, like mostly everything else we perceive I guess.

Don’t worry.  I’m just losing my mind a little bit.  But you probably are too.  We all are.  You just have to look inside yourself to see the fracture.  And it’s okay.  It’s all gonna be okay somehow.  Because like Joseph Campbell says, we have to “joyfully participate in the sorrows of the world”, right?  Gotta say yes to it, even when it hurts.  And I’m trying.  But it gets hard sometimes when you’re just floating.  Ambivalent to everything, indifferent to everyone.  See, I’ve always been resistant but it hits you so much harder when you don’t know where to go.  It’s like my soul is vibrating so fast because it doesn’t know what direction to turn.

What got me on this spiral in the first place was the realization of my need to go to shows to see bands that really matter to me; Bands that are my main source of inspiration and means of survival; They give me a reason to live, you know?  But tickets cost money and the limited funds in my checking account won’t last me forever.  I know that.  So cue my begrudging admittance to the system, my reason to conform to the capitalist culture…It just sucks that at the end of the day, we’re all slaves to a goddamn piece of paper.  I think that’s the main concept I constantly struggle with.