Sometimes I don't sleep at night. Fortunately I discovered a little drug called AMBIEN which is my bedtime namaste. Sometimes, though, when I am particularly anxious I hem and haw over taking the Ambien because I am proud and stubborn and an incredibly slow learner. Usually, before I say uncle and then namaste, I freak myself out with some really existential shit. Like the kind of stuff I'm hoping the people at NASA are working on. I was talking with Eric about this the other day, how I was having another anxiety attack because of my existential obsessions, while going through several diagnoses about why I am such a hot mess -- undiagnosed postpartum depression? not being able to relax for more than three hours because I have two kids two and under? early onset menopause? RESTLESS LEG SYNDROME? -- he said, "I think about that stuff too when I can't sleep."
pause button.
Here's the thing about Eric. He's cool as a cucumber, smart as a whip, agnostic, extraordinarily confident with a just enough self awareness to be well-liked, and he's the most rational person I've literally ever met.
These things generally drive me crazy.
But to know that Eric, Mr. I can control my blood pressure with my mind, thinks about the existential when he's trying to sleep is remarkable to me. Because if I do that and he does that, I bet other people do, too. Here's the thing though, I lose sleep because of the Universe, Eric can't sleep and then thinks about the Universe. Very different perspectives, which sums us up perfectly, I might add. Which camp do you fall under? Please say mine, k? I can't take too many more Erics in my life.
Anyway, it's starting to become clear to me that no one has anything figured out, really. The world, democracy, fill in the blank here -- it's all a grand experiment. No one knows anything. Operating from this point of view is very freeing, really. It's also a little bit terrifying, hence the Ambien. We're flying blind, and trying to juggle a million different balls while we do it. I think we're so freaked out by that little, fragile voice that asks why?, that we bury it with careers and schedules and busy busy busy so we don't have to make ourselves vulnerable. Or we silence it with self-righteous elder brother confidence -- I KNOW because this is what I was told and this is how it's done and you would be best served to fall in line. I've been unable to quiet my vulnerability lately, and I have time to indulge it, as I spend my days playing children's games that take only a fraction of my brain, but I don't have much time to do things with the thoughts. Perhaps this is why I flirt with insomnia. Perhaps this is why I have such a tight relationship with my hamster wheel.
Lately I've been a little irritated with people who claim to know. Trump. Christians. (not all of them, obvs guys.) People in charge. I know, I know. I was raised to be more polite than this, but I am just desperate to be a little more true than I am in my daily life. Where's the humility? Where's the admission that we don't. really. f*cking. know. but we're trying. I guess vulnerable doesn't do much for advancing a political agenda or keeping people in line.
Searching for meaning, that's what we're all here for, right? I don't care if you're a CEO or a hired hand, a Muslim or a Christian...this search for meaning is the great equalizer. Strip away your titles and your degrees and your beliefs and underneath it all is why? Why am I here? Why is any of this happening? How come we have to start fresh with every human? Sometimes I want to flip Grace over and paw through her hair, searching for a USB port to upload the information I've learned in the 30 years I lived before her. It seems so unfair, to make her start fresh, when I've done the leg work. Especially when I know she's probably more in the Erin camp than the Eric camp in her approach to life. Progress. Woof. It's so slow.
Sometimes I think, what if Grace or Elle were writing this/feeling this/thinking this? Would I feel like I let them down, like I didn't make them or raise them to be more complete, having this searching, longing, perpetually anxious need to find out why life is? Would I give them some vague platitude about this too shall pass? (Then what.) Or would I be comfortable knowing that searching for meaning and truth is the whole point? All this existential stuff makes me nuts. I got into quantum physics for a solid hour last year before it made me too uncomfortable.
I dunno guys. I'm just trying to make friends with my anxiety and flesh out the things that will probably keep me up tonight (although I'm always shocked by the mundanity of many of my thoughts too... should I be a Rodan and Fields consultant? Did I put the Dora DVD back in its case before I dropped it off at the library? Why do I feel like I owe everyone in my life a blanket apology? Anyone have answers for me here? Anyone?) Writing is a therapy for me, and I've also learned that our struggles are universal-- so hey, friend? You're not alone. Take your Ambien, or your antidepressant, or read your Bible (thats for Eric) or drink your Chamomile tea and know your sister over here will hold your vulnerable little hand and we can maybe start being fragile and true instead of, you know, how things are going now.
Namaste.
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