Warning: Unstable Foundation

I wanted to be a writer. From a very young age, that is what I wanted to do. It’s what I loved.
I loved being artistic. I loved drawing, painting, dancing, singing and playing.
My imagination was endless. I had endless storyline upon storyline that I harassed my friends and sisters into playing with me.

I acted out through play every single fantasy I ever had bouncing around in my mind. More came. More ideas. More stories.
They had to go somewhere. Out through my fingertips they went. Creating was like breathing.
I came to an age where other people in my class were excellent at creating too.
They drew better, sang better and wrote better.
They were just better. And I grew less sure of myself. I derived less pleasure from it. Because then, it wasn’t just for the love of it.
It was competition.
It got harder and harder to be who I was as I got older.
Who wants to remain who they are when they are constantly ridiculed or disliked for it?
What reinforcement is there to remain when there is so much objection?

So I changed.
I grew more studious and less eccentric.
I made more of an effort to fit in, smile more, laugh more, dress better.
Slowly, I wasn’t ruled by fear. Slowly, I moved away from the pain of being who I was.
Things got a little easier as I got older, wiser, and more social.
I learned. I learned how to move in the world, how to speak, how to advocate for myself.

But something else happened.
I lost my dream.
Other things became important to me.
I wasn’t willing to risk being misunderstood to be as free as I needed to be in order to create what I wanted.
Yup–I knew deep down inside that I had to cut the control ties in order to tap into my creative.
I was NOT ready to do that.
I was armed with a life-time worth of experiences that reinforced in my brain that being weird was social suicide.

So I toned down the dream.
I told myself that it was enough to be a journalist, or a PR professional. Now I am enrolling to be a health coach.
I love learning about wellness. Don’t get me wrong. I want to help people.
But I also love creating.
I love creating new worlds and analyzing the meaning behind our actions.

But I told myself it was stupid, it was useless, I wasn’t talented enough, I wouldn’t make any money, it was worthless.

I told myself that my gifts were worthless.

So I lied. And I lied, and I lied. I lied to myself so often and for so long that I forgot.
I forgot there even was a lie in the first place.

So, when things happen that rock me to my foundation: new intense relationships, new job opportunities, sickness, loss…I feel lost.
I have been guided so far by conventional wisdom. And it hasn’t worked.
I have listened to so many people’s voices, but not my own.
I can barely distinguish it now.

But it’s a funny thing when you hit the bottom.
At the bottom of your foundation, past the shit you tell yourself and underneath the voices of your parents, there’s something else.
When you finally let go of being perfect and having all the answers, there is something warm that blankets you with comfort.

It’s your truth. And if you let it, it will help you re-build, starting from the bottom.
You see, foundations built on lies don’t last. They can’t. But concrete truth is unshakeable. It may be scary, but it’s real.

Mine? Mine is crumbling. I don’t know what’s going to be left. And I’ve never been more scared of the future in my entire life.

Soul Sucking Days

Ever have those days where you feel like everything you do is just shit?

Intellectually you understand that it’s not. It can’t possibly be. But the feeling in your gut tells you different. It tells you that somehow, despite the Hitler fiasco, that you are the worst person on the planet.

I am trapped in my own hell today. For some reason it feels as if I want to stay here, and I don’t know why. Maybe it feels safe here. Maybe if I bury my head in this bleak-looking depression, all of it will go away.

All the challenges in my relationships, the unresolved career ambivalence, the lack of follow through on my health, the utter lack of emotion around my love life.

Maybe all of these “lacks” will magically clear up if I just avoid it all. Did the chicken or the egg come first? Is depression a result of avoidance, or am I using depression as a really advanced strategy to avoid?

When I was a kid I worked so hard. I tunnel-visioned myself into good grades, and then later in high school and university I made money and was able to survive university, twice. I pushed myself because I believed there was a reward somewhere.

Now, I’m here. I’m at the reward. A decent-paying job with minimal stress and a “fun” portfolio. Isn’t this the part where I’m supposed to be able to excel, be proud of myself and feel content?

Or is this the part where I’m like “meh, it ain’t that great up here.”

I know what you’re thinking. Shouldn’t I be more grateful? I have a decent apartment, decent friends, a decent job…you’re starting to see a pattern here eh? I have settled. I have stopped pushing, stopped growing, stopped being in pain.

Let’s face it, pain comes with growth. And I am so, so avoiding pain. I have had too much of it throughout my life and I think I’m tired. But it’s kinda all I know. I don’t know how to be content here. I don’t know how to just waffle through life and say, well I have 30 years til retirement.

This just isn’t who I am.

So, I guess the next logical question and really the only one that matters is: what am I willing to give up to get what I want? How much pain am I willing to endure to get to feel the way I want to feel–about my career, my relationships, my body, the world, my life?

Who am I willing to become?

The Lulls in Between the Leaps

If you’re anything like me, you might love those damn leaps. Freeing, dangerous, wild and energizing. Sometimes there is clarity as you leap off that life ledge.

It’s kinda like the movies when boy meets girl, takes a chance on girl and the music peaks in the background. You get the warm and fuzzies because you just KNOW that as soon as you leap, immediate results show up.

But what if you leap and instead just keep falling?

I was talking to my good friend Tom recently. He asked me how things were going and I told him the truth. I was struggling. Like really.

What do I really care about? What’s my purpose  right now? What’s my next move?

I felt like sludge. I felt like some sort of lazy primordial ooze that was dragging its ass through life.  I thought I had leapt. Earlier this year, I had decided I wanted to be a writer. A full-time autonomous writer. My friend Tom was by my side cheering me on. He too had found something he was excited about. Fast forward 6 months and I am still sitting here wondering–is this the right decision and if it is, shouldn’t I be more excited? Shouldn’t I be on fire by now? Meanwhile Tom was plugging away and getting past the resistance that seemed to be slowly suffocating me.

“The leap of faith always sucks,” Tom told me. “And it’s a long ass leap.”

That’s the part I’ve been missing. The faith part. Back when I was religious, people told me that sin was just separation from God. True faith meant believing that you were going in the right direction (toward God) even when you no longer felt his presence beside you. Even when you felt abandoned by God, true faith was pushing past it and continuing on. After all, it’s easy to be inspired when you’re connected. It’s easy to do the work when you see miracles before your eyes. It’s easy to love someone when they’re nice to you. It’s easy to believe in your success when you’re booking interviews with Oprah.

It’s not easy to believe in yourself when the people you love think you should stop trying, or when you see absolutely no proof or guidance from anything or anyone. But, no one goes into the arena untested or unpracticed. THIS is training. It may be mental and emotional, but it’s essential to success.

I have often been told that I should just be happy with the ways things are. “CeCe, why do you always need more? Why do you need to be doing something huge? Why can’t you just be comfortable with this?” Sometimes I wish I could. I wish I could be content with a 8-4 job, find a decent (not great, but good enough) man to spend my life with, comfortably, relatively okay. I wish I could do that. Oh God, sometimes I curse myself for having any kind of ambition. Ambition, if not properly channeled is sheer torture.

Unrealized ambition and desire will slap you silly until you are a broken mess, a shell of what you started with. Pair ambition with inaction and lack of direction and holy fuck–talk about a recipe for apathy and depression.

But I have come to realize something: what works for one person will not work for someone else. We HAVE to stop judging each other and our dreams. What feels right in your soul could be wildly different from one person to the other. It’s not about seeking to be better than everyone else, or about soothing your ego. This road will bruise the hell out of your ego.

It’s not about anything quite that small. It’s about opening up your lungs and with the full force of all that you are singing the note that you were born to sing (according to Tama Kieves) .

If we don’t reach that harmony, that alignment–we will ALWAYS be feeling like there is more…because there is.

Desire is the gateway. If reality and possibility got all pelvic and had a baby–that’s what I would want to make love to every day. The edge between gratitude and desire for more, that’s the space I want to live. That’s where I do my best work. That’s where I feel the most alive and grateful.

If I have to go through a million lulls between the leaps to get to my sweet lover, I shall. I shall.

 

Anyone Feeling S.A.D This Winter?

The days are getting shorter and so is my patience.

How much snow, cold and messy weather can one person handle before they snap? The last few weeks have been a series of shitty weather, cold, short days and just general misery.

I have had no motivation to write, leave my house or to do anything productive really. Everything has felt like a heavy weight on my shoulders.

I know what it is. It’s S.A.D rearing it’s ugly seasonal head.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) has finally become a legitimate condition. It is a mood disorder that regularly appears during a certain time of the year (normally winter depression, or summer anxiety). Some people experience it differently and to different degrees. Some years are better for me than others.

I do better when I can get outside more often, and when I am eating and exercising. I feel it more acutely when I’m not taking care of myself. The last few weeks have been a wonderful example of that. I have let my health slide a little, and it’s very evident how much it affects me.

The goals and intentions I had yesterday can be completely submerged by the weight of my depression. It’s frustrating because I know, as soon as the weather improves, so does my mood.  Perfect example. Today, it was 3 degrees, sunny and warm. And look…I am writing. So frustrating.

There are a few treatments available for people like me. Besides general depression medication (which I refuse to take!) things like light therapy, ionized-air administration, cognitive behavioral therapy, medication and supplementation of melatonin are all treatments that are supposed to help with SAD.

I personally haven’t tried any of these methods, so I can’t make recommendations. But I am considering purchasing a light box in the future. After all, being happy and productive only 6 months out of the year means that I am wasting half my life being miserable and that’s not something I’m prepared to live with.

Anyone out there dealing with SAD? How have you managed it?