This past Saturday, at the Gulf Terrace Hike and Bike Trail, I was assaulted by a teenage boy.
Today, my brain is a weepy, muddled mess of what could be and what isn’t. Feelings that betray my better instincts. A frustratingly opaque world of thoughts I can’t pinpoint.
I write sentences and erase them, one character at a time, with loud key strokes.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
The yearly exodus of creative talent is a psychological drain on those of us who remain. It’s a bitter pill I’m happy to swallow if it means the creative, financial, and mental success of my fellow artists. But it doesn’t make me like being Left Behind in Beaumont any more.
An exercise in micro-blogging.
I spent most of this week asking myself, “Am I OK?”
You’d think I’d be the utmost authority on this, the subject of What I Feel.
The fact is, I’m not, and I haven’t been for longer than I can say.
I want to share things that you don’t say in polite company.
Why am I afraid? Maybe I’m not. My fear is not the fear of those with less privilege than me.
I will be ok.
Of course I will – I am white. Yes, I’m female, but I believe both genders suffer in a world that says, “Men: be this way. Women: be that way” and then punishes those who say, “No.”
If I’m not afraid, what am I?
Not even halfway through the week, but I feel like I’ve been reading a lot of brilliant people articulate what I could never express, so I thought I’d share some of their insights below.
Always seek yourself. I’ve internalized that mantra since high school. When life felt full of questions, I wrote them down. Sometimes I found answers, sometimes I found more questions. More importantly, over time, I found myself.
Millennials are constantly derided for our “me” focus, but looking inward makes us grow. We’re a generation that asks, “Why?”
Older generations hate that question – we see it lampooned frequently in family sitcoms. A beleaguered adult wit-wrestles with a child who repeatedly asks, “Why?”
And what is the reaction?
“Give your mind a joyous vacation,” a friend recently told me over drinks.
At that moment, I sat in a funk, unable to catch the bartender’s attention to exchange my currency for an ice cold beer.
A friend walked over, ordered my drink, and sat across from me.
“What’s going on?” He asked.