Throughout all of his wanderings he finally found that he’d made it to where he wanted to go, and that realization felt unfamiliar and disorienting. There was a deep sadness when he thought about leaving behind who he was, but also excitement at his accomplishment.
More than anything, he felt relief; relieved that the door was open, and that which he’d always believed in, but couldn’t see, was now real. It was a personal and intimate kind of realization. The only proof was in the way he felt about himself. The self-loathing was gone; that sense of alienation and fragmentation that seemed like the only reality he’d known.
“We’re in this together,” he thought, but he was saying it to all the different parts of himself.
He had the sensation that all of the moments of his life had swirled around him while he remained still.
It was all happening at once.
It's interesting to feel like you know and you don't know simultaneously. Opposites can coexist at the same time, and perhaps they have to. The experience of transcending polarity feels like the cracking of an egg.
I'm fascinated by my inner family, or team, or personalities. They've always been quite distinct. My inner captain and team leader is really coming into his own these days.
The study of the universe is essentially the study of the psyche. After all, it's the psyche that's observing the universe. We come from it, and it comes from us.
I don't know what it is, but the process of just writing these words – of just starting – is potent. It doesn't matter how much time has passed; the act of writing is always new. That's the appeal of it, I suppose.
Of course, having all of the accoutrements of writing is fun; apps, tools, and books. Writing about writing is a kind of practical procrastination. However, nothing beats the act of writing itself, whatever it may be about.
In this last bit is where I think of something profound to say, something that will wrap up my thoughts in a nice little bow. I'm never at a lack for something profound, but sometimes all you can say is goodnight (see, that's kind of profound). In any case, why don't we end with a 1…2…3…4.
I choose to write about positive things, or at least write about negative things in a positive way. I do this because I feel like it, and for my own emotional and mental well-being. Over the long term, it works out positively.
One of the themes of my writing is self-improvement, and at the foundation of that are the Life Areas, which are like a garden. Each area of the garden (or of life) grows a different kind of flora and fauna. Of course, we’re the gardeners of our Life Areas.
I’ve got stories I’m going to write, with characters other than me and myself, although I think the story of my life is interesting, too.
I’m rediscovering fun; things like watching movies, listening to music, painting, and writing. It used to be easy, but now it feels like I have to learn how to do it all over again. These days, everything seems to trigger bad memories; even good ones can turn bad on a dime.
I can feel the resistance – the blocks, the obstacles, the anxiety, the depression, the antagonism – but I choose to no longer fight with myself. Instead, I’m there for myself no matter what; something that was missing before. Now I’m taking responsibility for my own happiness.
Because I’m watching more movies, I’m seeing my life as a story (even more so than usual). Dreams I’ve had since I was a kid are starting to come true. Now it’s that part in the movie where the main character has to take a leap of faith.
As I went about my Sunday routines, I had the realization that I’ve barely scratched the surface of who I truly am. This is both exciting and frustrating. There’s so much that I want to create and express.
Creating things willy-nilly isn’t all that satisfying, either. Part of the fun is in connecting with others. Of course, there’s also the issue of making a living.
Rather than fighting the form and structure, I’m learning from it. Boundaries have their uses, after all. Focus is the key.
I feel a deep appreciation at how far I’ve come in the past few years. Journaling, writing, blogging, and art have been true companions long before and after people have come and gone. I know what it’s like to be left out in the cold and hung out to dry.
Though protected, my heart isn’t bitter. I still have a sense of wonder. Appreciation flows through me.
There’s no part of me that I’ve ever been able to extinguish. I’ve only ever grown. Self-acceptance is, as I see it, my only road to salvation.