One More Time

It hit me like ten falling, out-of-tune pianos: what if I invested even half the time in myself that Iʻve invested in other people?

The thought is ridiculous, that Iʻve spent more time pouring into other people than into myself.

My therapistʻs consistent and patient reminders that I have all I need within me aside, I cannot imagine spending all that time on myself. It can take me DAYS to, say, write a love letter. Days. To someone else. Thatʻs how much I invest in the one endeavor alone.

Yet Iʻve been avoiding writing that love letter to myself.

Itʻs like I canʻt spare one single moment on myself. What do I think will happen? What will I lose?

Nothing.

Those of you who relate to this, you understand, I think, that what Iʻm afraid of is what I will gain. Iʻm afraid of choosing something different, something better, because it will mean starting over from scratch. Thereʻs no more autopilot or shoulds, no more always or never. There is only now. Every time, only now.

Because if I write this letter to myself-- even if all Iʻm doing is putting down in words what I already think in my head-- Iʻm taking a step into the unknown. Iʻve never done this before and I donʻt know where itʻll take me and I donʻt know where Iʻll land up. Iʻm asking me to trust in me. Iʻm asking me to believe in me. Iʻm asking for so much from myself. One. More. Time.

I believe in every One More Time, though. I do. So far, each One More Time has led me to beautiful places I never thought Iʻd be, prompted me to do things I swore Iʻd never or couldnʻt do, surprising myself (and others) in the process.

People I see daily, that I have known for years and years, literally tell me they donʻt recognize me. Yes, my body looks very different than it did last August, but I like to think that itʻs also because Iʻm happier, healthier, and closer to feeling whole than ever before. I am the same me Iʻve always been and also not the same at all.

Knowing me well enough, Mahana reminds me that this letter? Itʻs not the end all, be all. "You donʻt just write ONE love letter to your special person, do you?" she asks. Well, of course not. Duh. I can write many letters to myself. "You are at the beginning of your relationship with self, Kanani. Write to where you are today."

Writing love letters is second nature, but composing takes a while sometimes because words matter to me. I choose my words for their nuances of meaning. For example, I might say "singular" instead of "unique" because though theyʻre common synonyms for each other meaning "only one of its kind," singular also connotes a sense of something exceptional, something ineffable. This distinction matters to someone who loves words and uses them to express what sometimes cannot be expressed.

Right now, before Iʻve even begun, spending that much time on myself seems impossible. The idea makes me very uncomfortable. But so did going to the park every day. So did sitting at my desk to draw or write. So did taking a selfie. Or buying myself cute underwear (who sees that shit anyway?). 

So, just get out of your stupid head, Kanani. Stop stalling. You I can do this! All I need to do is trust in me. Believe in me. Invest in me. One. More. Goddamned. Time.

Peace of Mind for a Former Mind Reader?

How do you make space for yourself inside your head?

Because Iʻm getting better at making social space for myself, but I donʻt always do the same in my head. Is that confusing? It is to me, and my brain spins just thinking about it. Let me break it down.

Iʻm way better these days at speaking up, expressing what I need or want, and taking care of my own needs before (or instead of) looking after othersʻ. Having needs doesnʻt make me "needy." Asking for help doesnʻt make me "clingy." Self care doesnʻt make me "selfish." I have come to accept and embrace this even if itʻs sometimes difficult to practice.

Whatʻs proving more challenging is allowing myself to linger in those in-between spaces that allow my heart, brain, and guts to process external and internal input. I am impatient and a person of action: if thereʻs a challenge, I like to meet it swiftly and decisively. Do it! Nownownow! Gogogo! I have very little practice at being the flower, being passive and receptive. My mental constitution is better built for a busy bee, ever collecting, disseminating, moving.

John Keats to John Hamilton Reynolds

 
In the film, World War Z, Brad Pittʻs character advises, "Movimiento es vida." Movement is life. I subscribe to this mantra even though my daily routine doesnʻt usually involve fleeing from zombies hopped up on amphetamines. Movement helps me breathe through my anxiety, stress, and depressive episodes. It brings order to my brain when everythingʻs all jumbled the fuck up. Thereʻs something super consoling about physical activity.

So, shockingly, Iʻve a tendency toward the impulsive. I used to describe this as acting with more heart than brain, which is kind of true, although now I think of it as just habitual action. This is what I always do in these situations. This is how I always respond. This is how I always take care of others and myself. This is what I say. I never do this. I never say this. On and on. These are shortcuts that have served me well (but not really) in the past.

What I must remember from moment to moment is to slow down. When youʻre a mind reader, you get really good at doing things on the fly. People are fickle creatures so youʻve got to be adaptable, flexible, and creative. Most of all, you have to be READY. At any and every moment, ready. Ready to go! You appear solid under pressure. And you are! You have to be! The problem for me is that I believed thatʻs who I had to be all the goddamned time. You get good at predicting the future and then reacting to it, but not so much at listening to yourself and honoring whatʻs inside you.

Like everything else Iʻve been working on these last several months, patience is progressing. It isnʻt always easy, sitting with discomfort and confusion, which is why I ask you how you make space for yourself in your head. How do you sit with your ugly? How do you stay curious and open even when itʻs super hard, even when you donʻt want to? Plus, I donʻt know if any you know this, but Iʻm kinda lazy. I just want things to happen because I wish for them, lickety split, so if any of you has a magic pill or genie or something, hook a tita up!

Part IV: A Lesson in Three Parts

Part I: I Get to Do This

Last week, my friend told me that when he starts feeling junk about whatever heʻs got to do, he reminds himself, "I GET to do this." A simple sentiment that we talked about at length.

Because, as you all know, I get hard time sometimes. Last week was shit. Thinking about going back to work this week was giving me stress and anxieties. I was scared. Doing this for years, and still this was scarier than going back to work in 2020.

Part II: Be Here Now

All I know for sure is this moment. Weʻre not guaranteed anything, let alone tomorrow, next week, two months from now. I canʻt take any of this shit for granted.

This moment, though, is fickle and fleeting. Blissful or despairing, this moment doesnʻt last forever, and the switch will flip without hesitation or notice. All I can do is live in this moment, right now. Root myself in it, be open to it, be moved by it. I am flexible and strong and capable. This moment? I can handle. I donʻt know about tomorrow, next week, or two months from now, but right now? Iʻm doing it.

Read the lyrics to this awesome song, "Parabola," by Tool

Part III: Connected

Imagine you are in a fishbowl and you look up at the sky, which is really just the meniscus of the water. But to you, in your world, this is the sky. Someone on the outside of the bowl pierces your sky with their fingertips, which you see as five distinct and separate objects. You donʻt see that those objects are connected by a hand, which is then connected to the whole body. All you see are these five separate entities, but they are nevertheless connected-- part of a whole-- whether or not you see that.

"You have to have faith in the connection," was my friendʻs takeaway, and hearing that fricken soothed my soul. In that moment, my heart was soothed.

Having that sentiment reflected back at me-- something I believe whole-heartedly but often doubt-- calmed my nerves. I can let go when I need to, it reminded me, because I can trust in those connections. What connects me to you, me to the world, me to myself, will hold. Even if I donʻt see it, even if I doubt it, even if itʻs been a while. Trust.

Part IV: Translation

Iʻm sometimes a selfish brat, and I have really fucked up days when I hate who I am and am incredibly aware of my limitations and perceived failings. I feel overwhelmed and ill-equipped and my chest feels like itʻs too small for my heart and lungs. Like my organs, I feel trapped, squeezed, near to bursting.

And yet, Iʻm still here, which means Iʻm doing it. No matter what "it" is, I get to do it. Am doing it. Doing it over and over, day after day, moment after moment. When things get overwhelming, I have to course-correct and bring myself back to this moment, back to myself. That often takes a huge amount of patience and effort, requires multiple micro-corrections over a period of time, and is usually ugly as fuck.

But Iʻm doing it. As difficult as existing in that fucked up moment can be, it doesnʻt last forever. Neither do those idyllic moments, like a beautiful Friday afternoon, that I want to linger in.

Itʻs all fleeting and itʻs all mine.