what if i handed you a note that just said "crying in public is fine" and then booped you on the nose? and then sprinted away?
the news today is what if i did that? hm?
what if i handed you a note that just said "crying in public is fine" and then booped you on the nose? and then SPRINTED away? what if i did that? would you like it? would you…NOT like it?
normally i like to punch things into your email that i write while scream laughing but, unfortunately for us all, i am a human who occasionally needs to punch other feelings into things i write. this is one of those times! join me, why don’t you? take my hand and let us skip into a little swamp.
i found a note i wrote myself nearly a month ago about grief and scarcity. the former of which i have been flopping around in for many months now (ICYMI, see here) and the latter being something i’ve historically had to work at to not focus on, generally.
lately, though, i have become detached from the scarcity mindset i used to frequently dip into/drag myself out of. and the note i wrote myself at the beginning of july sort of sums up why.
i don’t know why i’m sharing this. certainly not as some cautionary tale to any of you, warning you to “be grateful” or what the fuck ever. i’m not here to tell you any of that! all i know is that talking about my grief—and sometimes even laughing about it!!!!—helps me. writing about my grief is something that alleviates the pain, poking a little hole in my soul and letting some of the shitty, stale, sad-ass air out.
isn’t that sad!!!!!!! i know; it is.
it’s moments like this where i remember that i can move through grief as i need to. even if by “move,” i mean one of the following: crawl, flop, fall down, fly through the air screaming, position myself on a makeshift sled and slide down a cliff, walk on my hands, canoe on solid ground. and even harder so, i can summon the strength to stand still and let it wrap me up like a bad burrito.
people don’t like to talk about grief. it’s uncomfortable! but you know what? i don’t think it has to be. i’m only starting to figure out how to write about it. i’m not going to push it. and i’m not going to let it consume me, either, because equally important to my wellbeing is writing 16 page manifestos about giant squids like a scientist who got fired for being insane and currently lives on top of a cliff.
i’m learning how to balance scream laughing and joy with shapeshifting grief and constant change. and the landscape is something i can’t even really describe yet.
Grief is a new landscape to navigate, writing about it is creating your own map.