I skipped therapy today because, weather-wise, San Diego has decided to be Seattle this week. I love the rain. But I don’t want to drive 80 miles in it. And I’ve been feeling pretty good lately – I mean, consistently good – so I figured it was okay to miss a session.
But I would like to talk about the state of my emotional… state, because it’s something I occasionally marvel at. And four months of this blog has made it so obvious:
I live on a roller-coaster.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m damaged, or because I’m an artist, or because I’m just naturally hysterical, or what. But if you go back and read through the archives, you can see how the tone of my posts varies on a near-daily basis:
I’m happy I love my life
. I’m sad I hate my life
There’s almost no in-between phase either. And the littlest things can tip the scale: this afternoon, Doug and I were doing some Christmas shopping for our siblings, and after I’d chosen gifts for his 12- and 15-year-old sisters – really good gifts, that any 12- or 15-year-old should love to get, I was feeling pretty good about myself, and my place in the world, and the fact that these two teenagers can look up to me, at least a little, at least for my ability to choose gifts.
Then, in a conversation for my mom, I learned that what we had just gotten for my brothers was really similar to what she had just gotten for my brothers, only, she was undoubtedly able to do it bigger/better/more. And Doug said, quietly, “Now our gifts don’t mean anything,” and it absolutely crushed me, as once again I felt myself reduced to this: broke, unmarried, potentially barren, and working in a grocery store.
The feeling didn’t last, didn’t destroy my beautiful rainy afternoon, but I am consistently amazed by how fragile I am.
I have to keep this short, as I’m off to dinner with Doug’s family, followed by a girls’-night-in party with some friends, and I’m sitting here typing in my pajamas, not ready to go out at all. (I have a feeling this week is going to be full of short posts and apologies.) I’d like to point you, though, to a fellow blogger’s letter to the universe, which I think also conveys how fragile we can be in the wake of tragedy, as this woman, who usually maintains such a good sense of humor about her own situation (which is similar to mine in some ways, different in others), lets her guard down, berates the universe for giving her the nightmare that was 2010, then vows to move forward “with all the hope [she] can muster.”
It’s a study in contrasts, I guess: both her letter, and my life. And maybe everyone’s lives. We are strong and funny and wonderful, until a single grain of rice adds the weight of our experiences, and suddenly we aren’t. And every day, we face the roller-coaster anew, never quite knowing what direction it will take us, that is, until it’s too late to get off.