|4 minute read|
My mind staggered, my peace shuffled. Collecting thoughts like water on an empty stomach, enough sustenance to feel complete, but no substance to be nourished. My mind has been nonstop, on overdrive as I work my way through the week. Spilling over into notes scribbled on the inside of a paperback book, on a receipt from a gas station, in my texts, in my journal. Vehicles to which my thoughts can be laid to rest, the fragments of my mind thus far. I thought it best to consolidate them now, no rhyme or reason, but perhaps we can create sense in real time. For what are we really but not the fragments of our sentiments, strung together as an attempt to make sense of things.
I started arriving early to places, not by much, maybe ten or fifteen minutes. And as I sat in my car, watching the time tick by I enjoyed doing absolutely nothing. The music turned off, phone in my bag, I sat with myself and the scene that lay around me. It was windy so I’d watch the breeze. Or it was sunset so I’d watch the sun hide away behind the mountains. Perhaps all this time I spent still is the reason why I have had so much to say, to think, to gather. But what a relief it was. To not have to hide away from your own mind, by a distraction. What is it like to watch a plant grow, a flower bloom? Letting the sprout rise, through the dirt, and letting it blossom as it likes.
Yet too much time spent in reflection, made me feel shaky, on uneven ground. Thinking two things at once, at odds with my opinions, how jarring it can be to question your inner monologue. But on a piece of paper I have scribbled down, “the art of crafting yourself” and I think it can serve as a reminder to us all that it is a privilege to be whatever you want, however you want. On your own terms, there is a freedom of relief. There is a freedom of release. You don’t have to be everything you want all the time. Fragments of myself, collected from experience, learning from each one. And in hindsight, gaining wisdom is really all you can rely on from an experience.
Myself as an empty carcass, poured in and dumped out with the insights of others that I seek. But what am I really thinking? What am I really feeling? Scared to ask for help, ashamed even, but operating within blind spots. Fragments of others shared with me. To help me with words I can’t seem to find on my own, a feeling I can’t quite process. I fight to not over share, but I say it all so others can feel with me, sit in my bones, swallow my fears. Someone to understand completely, viscerally, the rhythm I have been existing in. But nobody fits my bones quite like I do; to be at all is to be alone. How can we help ourselves?
Trepidations turned new opportunities. Fragments of the future within grasp. But there is no future if your ambitions are clouded with fear. Equally, there is everything and nothing to be afraid of. Facing fears, like practice, like muscle memory. Every time you are afraid and every time you find yourself on the other side of apprehension is sharpening a skill, developing a new pattern. Like riding a bike, brushing your teeth, making your bed.
And then again, we must never forget to relish in the happy moments, regardless of how long they last. Fragments of warm memories we can replay when we close our eyes, to recall a smile on my face. Searching for the joy we can find in any moment, we leap towards what makes us feel good. Maybe these moments are what wraps us in fear, the anxiety of feeling anything at all.
Typing and retyping words that seem to lose their sense, like when you stare at the words “thankfully” or “might as well” and wonder how did we ever get around to saying that. Fragmented words weaved together to illustrate the pattern of our contemplations. Thrown together in conversation with someone, picking the best words, the most fitting arrangement to ensure your point gets across. Because how intimate is it to be understood? Lately I feel like I have been stumbling around my sentences. Sending a text and immediately wondering if what I said made sense, or replaying a conversation countless times through asking myself why I said what I did. I’m forever doomed to second guessing my words. But even these moments are fragments, maybe to be lost forever.
As I twist these letters together now, I hope I’ll still like it in a day or two. I’m not even sure if this post reads well. These paragraphs are as arbitrary as my thoughts have been. Yet all I wanted to say was we are the fragments of what happens to us, the experiences we carry and what we gather from it. But collect what you want and keep it close, because one day, together it will all make sense.
from pieces of me, to pieces of you,
natalie<3
