So, I’m a liar. I said I was going to take a break from this blog. Here I am writing another post two days later. I’m pretty certain I’m going insane. I guess that’s OK. I have to embrace it, I suppose. I can’t stop it, obviously.
I was just writing in my journal this morning how I’m not compelled to do certain things. I want to do them, but I don’t feel compelled to them. Like, write a novel or paint or anything artistic like that. Painters are compelled to paint. Musicians are compelled to compose. What am I compelled to do?
So, I asked myself, on my deathbed, will I regret not doing these things? I didn’t feel that I would. They’re nice to have but not necessary. Tomorrow, if you asked the same question, I would probably answer in a completely different fashion.
I digress … or at least I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t know if anyone reads this thing. I get comments from time to time. I guess someone reads it or at least takes the time to comment whether they read it or not.
I’m not even talking about anything on here anymore. I realize that. It’s just my random thoughts sputtering out into the universe. For some reason, I feel compelled to do this. Suddenly. To share shit. I don’t share shit. It’s not my thing.
Well, apparently, now it is. This blog has basically become my personal journal. Someone commented once they liked reading about my journey. Yeah, it’s a journey, alright. Straight into Crazytown.
I am über private. Uber private. I wouldn’t let people stand in the same room where my journals were hidden. Yeah, they were hidden. Yes, I live alone. I was afraid someone would see them. Read them. Like someone gives a shit. It was a concern though.
Now, I’m putting all my thoughts out here. For no reason. I don’t really think anyone reads this. Not even sure if it matters to me that anyone reads it. So why put it on the Internet? Why not just write it in a journal?
I don’t know. There is no logic to insanity. I can’t tell you why. I think I’m just putting signals out like a beacon. Like NASA — or somebody — does. Hoping to find some other life form out there that can read the signal. That understands and may respond one day. Maybe we’ll connect. Maybe everything will make sense. Until then, just a constant pulsing of weird messages out into the universe. Floating through space and time.
I don’t put all my crazy on here. Be thankful for that. You just get a small taste of it. Some crazy, though, you keep to yourself. It’s just too much for the world to handle.
Anyway, feeling compelled. That’s what prompted this blog. I wrote in my journal this morning trying to find my purpose. How many times have I talked about that on here? Who knows? Too many. You know how the movies always show the folks in mental institutions repeating things over and over? There you go. Proof of the insanity.
So, I’m thinking about my purpose. What would I regret on my deathbed? I would regret not experiencing more in life. Not seeing more of the world. Not traveling more. Not learning about other cultures and the people on this planet. Not dancing and enjoying their music. That’s what I would regret.
Then, as things do on this blog, on my journey, in Crazytown, they circled back around. A few posts back I talked about how one human life wasn’t more important than another human life. I was talking about protecting immigrants here in the US.
See, I don’t see us as different. Well, we’re different but not separate. We’re all one species sharing one planet. It’s this whole interconnectedness shit that I talk about all the time. I don’t want us to be separate. I want us to understand one another. To get each other.
I love to travel. I’m introverted as fuck, so that makes it weird and awkward, but I love to travel. I don’t talk much. I observe. I like to observe and feel the place if that makes sense. Get the essence of the culture, the people. One on one, I will talk. I enjoy that actually. But, not everyone wants to talk to an awkward woman. Go figure, right.
Then I thought about that trip to New York I took back in February. I wrote about it here. I kept wanting to talk about the place. The vibe. The feeling. There’s so much diversity in that city. That’s what gives it the vibe it has. It’s a fucking awesome vibe, too.
I did the same sort of thing talking about Paris. I brief snippet, but still.
Back to the interconnectedness stuff. Sorry. My crazy is working at warp speed today. My thoughts are scattered.
Travel. One species, one planet. I want people to travel. At least learn about the world. About other cultures. To understand how they honor their dead. The food they eat and why. Hear their music and learn why it sounds the way it does. To feel it. Dance to it.
That’s what I want to do. Experience those things. I want others to do that. To feel that interconnectedness. We really aren’t that different. There are differences. I’m not to going to gloss over that. Some we can’t ignore. But some we can. I would guess there are more things in common than not if you look at overarching themes.
And each place has its own energy. A unique mix of cultures and stories. That’s beautiful. I want us to see the beauty in our differences first. That helps tackle the challenges of our differences from a more grounded, empathetic position.
Is that a purpose? Can I make that a purpose somehow? A career? I don’t know. They say dream big. Uniting the world is pretty damn big, right? How do I do that? I don’t know. I jotted down a few ideas. I’ll keep them for myself. I keep spouting out big plans and goals on here and then not following through. That’s because I haven’t nailed it down yet.
I’m just sending out signals. Pulsing and pulsing. Maybe they’ll strike a chord with someone. I’m searching, I suppose. For meaning. For purpose. For more connectedness.
Then there’s that witch thing I mentioned. Where does that fit in? Healing. Well, I guess this is a form of healing, right? Music heals. Food can heal. Love and understanding heal.
What does this all have to do with mindfulness, yoga and meditation? Who the fuck knows? I guess embracing your own insanity is a form of self-love, right? So let yourself be insane for a while. Talk out of your ass from time to time. Maybe that’s where you find the meaning of life. Maybe the insane know the truth and they’re justing waiting for us to catch up.