Perhaps it's the nature of being a 20-something, and firmly in the middle of the road. I've achieved some amazing things; I've put the work in and I've the brilliant good fortune of being rewarded for that work, but then, like Minesweeper, it opens up a whole new field. More opportunities; new dreams. Like the idea of being a high school senior, on top of the world and confident in your success, to a college freshman, as vulnerable as a snail without its shell. Stepping into a new stage just feels...new again. Inexperienced. Overwhelmed.
Maybe it's just stress, and feeling like I have too many eggs in too many baskets and where are my damn chickens already (did that work out as a metaphor?). There's the non-profit work, my night/day job, my side job, and my writing. And then there's the inequal balance of all that versus sleep, of course.
But whatever it is, this phrase has been in my head lately. Months. Chanted, like a prayer. Protect my heart.
Work I can do; work I can always do. I'm not so good at looking out for my sense of emotional fulfillment; my sense of joy. I'm not good at defending that, at making space for it.
And I wish maybe I were a poet; maybe then I could express it better, without sounding pathetic or needy. Part of it certainly is that aspect of love, and human caring, like the claddagh with two hands delicately holding a heart. That seems like the harder part some times, finding those moments of genuine human connection when you just get lost in talking to someone, when you feel that magical sense that someone else understands you. These kind of nights and talks seemed so commonplace in college, and so rare since. I love them. I treasure them. I had a great conversation with a friend recently and it just left me humming. And like a video game when you unlock an achievement, I felt that chant again--protect my heart. Because it had.
But part of it is also getting to that sense of peace. I think, though it's totally convoluted, that I have to get to that sense of peace, of quiet confidence, before I can act, before I can go out and do the things I need to do. I feel like this, maybe, more than anything else, is that heart space. A calm pool of water that defends your innermost emotions.
God, it's so easy for me to let that pool drain, to leave my heart feeling vulnerable and abraded and squidgy. To the point that I'm exhausted and overwhelmed and my sense of calm is out the window, and I feel like I'm getting through my work only by clawing on with my fingernails. I still go on. I still do my work, I still make things happen. But I've failed to protect my heart.
I'm not sure what the point of this post is. This had been a crazy week for me, one in a series of very crazy weeks, and I felt empty, in the gas tank sense. I had nothing left to work with. My heart was undefended; hell, it felt like it was out of my chest altogether. And then I had a great conversation, which helped, and then, this morning (or yesterday morning, now), the sun came out (which usually I don't actually like) and I got the unexpected chance to be alone on a beach.
And the waves were crashing and the wind was whipping and the tide was so far out on a flat, flat beach that a hundred foot stretch looked like glass, the sand just wet enough to flash light back at me, solid enough to step on.
It was me and a couple of seagulls, and at first just the sound of the beach was wonderful. Easy. Peaceful.
But there's power there too. The ocean is one of my favorite things in the world because it's unrelenting. It's powerful. It's mercurial as hell and it changes its mind in a heart beat. It is one of the most calming and destructive forces of nature.
Not unlike the human heart.
The moral of the story is that it filled that pool around my heart in the smallest way. I have a ton of work ahead of me in the next few days (and I mean a TON) and I just needed this.
So here are a few more photos; maybe you can relate, maybe you think I'm insane. Maybe--and far more likely--I'm just talking to myself on here.
Fingers crossed.
Lots of love.
]]>
