Sometimes I read back over things I’ve written, and man, I was so wise! And then I realise that actually I must be pretty stupid, because if I can have learned this lesson once, then why does it need relearning again, and again, and over and over and over again?
Last week, when I wrote up that post about my fesking gallbladder, I happened to stumble across an old post of mine that held this:
Sometimes, when it feels like you are drowning, all you really have to do is stand up.
I am such a drama queen sometimes. Not out there, out loud, out where you guys can all see it (internet and in person I mean), but inside, in my head. MAN I am a drama queen. There are weeks when every. little. thing. just feels so goddamn important that I forget how to breathe, how to move. Every choice is fraught, every decision agony, every moment imbued with import and solemnity that far outweighs the consequences of its time.
Seriously: Drama. Queen.
It seems to me that I have been doing a lot of drowning lately, when really all I had to do was stand up. Yeah, life’s not been a big ol’ bucket of roses, but you know what? It pretty much never is. And it hasn’t exactly been a tub of stinking manurepoop either, so you know. Worms? Maybe. But you can make damn fine compost with worms, so whatever. Stand up, woman. Put your big girl panties on, quit kicking and screaming that the world isn’t falling neatly into alignment around you, and go DO something. MAKE something. Feed that piece of your soul that knows how to live no matter what the circumstances, that part of you that lives and laughs and dances with delight in the sunshine just because, because the sun is warm and shiny and pretty and here and it’s now, now, NOW, and now is glorious because it’s here, it’s alive, let’s celebrate. Stand up, ignore the water sloshing around your knees (or hips or waist or chest), or if you can’t, at least notice the way the swirling depths catch the sunlight, the way the colours run together like liquid silk reflecting back the sky, radiating out their sense of infinite mystery, swirls and patterns dancing around you in one great big celebration of what it means to be human, and now, and alive. Breathe the sweet air around you that, even though it might stink of the water that’s pulling you down, still holds breath and life enough for this moment. Feed the pieces of your soul that matter. Feed the pieces of your soul that sing. Dance with the waves that hold you.
Stop complaining that your feet are wet. Stand up, right now, and sing. You’re alive, woman, so damn well act like it.