afterparty

This might be a long one. Should I split it up? We’ll see. Where to start…hmm. Maybe this shower thought:

(This is inner chidi) – You chase contentment, but it’s always slipping through your fingers. You grasp at it, and it shatters in the tension. You are trying to escape this constant agitation, like you know you have an appointment but you can’t remember what it is. “Am I late? Have I missed it? Is it something completely different? If I could just know…” 

Let’s put the logic puzzle pieces all out on the table. (1) you cannot know your purpose, if you even have one outside of what you create yourself. (2) life is a squiggly mountain pass for everyone. It’s less about figuring out what’s coming as it is cultivating adaptability. (3) uncertainty is what gives your choices meaning. (4) your choices create the story of your life, how and why you choose defines you. (Therefore) Life without uncertainty is a contradiction in terms. If contentment can be achieved, it must coexist with ambiguity. 

Now, peep this pivot – What if contentment is the discomfort you are running from? Maybe you have access to it already, but it feels like stagnation, it feels like being lazy. “I’m not doing enough, I’m not doing enough… if I stop I’m going to miss it…” Miss what? You’re sprinting past the thing you think you’re chasing. 

——

I’m writing this in the Wheaton Library. I hmm’d and haw’d about how weird going to downtown Wheaton would be, despite having already gone to the Cosley Zoo. I think the problem is, when the judgement is vibes based, you are constantly relitigating. Ultimately I decided, who cares, only god can judge me. And uh, he did, in a way. I ended up walking past one of the most beautiful churches I’ve seen, and it was St. Michael’s (Archangel Michael is my homeboy. I can’t get into it, I know I know I knooooowww please don’t judge me, I’m not that kind of crazy. I wish I was the type of person who could raw dog life without making my intuitive voice into little sock puppet characters who cheer me on and give me advice. It’s easier to trust something that feels external. It makes me trust what is external to me more, when it seems like there is something or someone outside of me that has my back. Needing that makes me feel naive and weak, but it’s made life possible. I also realize my guilt about it is not from knowing it’s all hooee, it’s because I am surrounded by people who see most of spirituality as some combination of delusion, cult behavior, confirmation bias, exploitation, wishful thinking, anti-science, etc. I have a whole video about it, but none of those human failings discount the possibility of a spiritual/metaphysical reality. Maybe there is something, someone, holding my hand right now. I’m trying to figure out what’s real from this teeeennny tiny pinpoint in space time, with my little monkey+ brain. There is a certain logic to incorporating intuitive understanding into a working existential hypothesis.) 

Anyway anyway anyway – I’m here in downtown Wheaton, in the library. And I’ve had such an odd experience. I feel safe. I feel at home. It’s fascinating, and I have to chalk it up to a cultural nostalgia. There’s something about the architecture and the layout and everything that makes it feel like it could be a set in a hallmark Christmas movie. Similar to the experiences I’ve had with the fall colors and cozy neighborhoods, I think this is another case of “Oh, the movies were not exaggerations really, places like this actually exist.” It is surprising how strong and how personal that familiarity feels. I’m not complaining though. I wish I could take this with me. Especially here in the library I realize it’s more a feeling I associate with being a 5/6/7 year old at school, rather than being at my actual home. Like — you can relax, you will be taken care of. If you mess up, it’s not a big deal. You can sit and play or draw, and you aren’t going to get yelled at to move. You won’t get in trouble for taking up space. You are part of a community, and we take care of each other. You belong, you are loved, and you matter to us. 

I can’t account for feeling it a bit at the comedy club last night. Thank god I did, because I was Tested. All of this may sound like me patting myself on the back for having unremarkable adult self control, but bare with me. My blog, my subjective experience. I came early but I tried to get a spot to the side, unfortunately there was no real place to hide. What I did not realize is I ended up being sat right fucking next to where the upcoming comic would sit and wait for his time to go on. I want you to imagine putting the number 1 god tier treat 3 inches away from your dog, and telling him to “wait”. For almost 20 minutes. I KNOW THAT’S A POTENTIALLY DEHUMANISING ANALOGY I’m so sorry, I don’t know a better way to convey it. But I could not look at the stage without him being in my periphery, and I was screaming at myself “don’t you fucking look girl, this isn’t about you, let the man just do his job.” I didn’t, thankfully. 

The second test was worse. Right after Danny’s set, I realized I had to go to the bathroom. It was a 0->100 situation, I wasn’t going to make it 30 minutes till the end of the show. Why was this tricky? All the comedians were just hanging out in the back, only a few rows of tables behind everyone. I was not going to go hunting for the restroom. Thankfully the server came over. “Oh, it’s just up the stairs and down the hall over there.” I didn’t understand at first, because she was pointing to the opposite side of the room, to the hall that lead to the backstage area. My stomach dropped. We are going to have to walk right in front of him, between him and the stage. 

“He doesn’t remember you, you narcissistic freak. You’ve been a fleeting face in the crowd, he’s not going to remember your likeness, let alone tie it to whatever vague memory of an over zealous fan artist he used to have. He’s not going to see you. Just go.”

As I got up I started to do the cost benefit analysis of speed vs exposure. I heard the echo of my ex, chastising me for the way I move when I hustle. “You aren‘t built to do that. Stop. It’s embarrassing.” 

“Are you a 13 year old with a crush? Stop overthinking and just be fucking NORRRMALLL. FOR ONCE.”

I was thankful for the respite I was given when I made it. I tried to let the bickering, critical voices fade away as I waited for the current comedian’s set to end. The trip back to my seat was easier. The damage had already been done. 

I left quickly after the show, to avoid the appearance of lingering. I slumped against my car and let the emotional storm settle enough for me to drive home. A softer part of me coaxed me to admit that I did wish, on a deep, desperate soul level, that I could have met him. It told me there is no shame in the want, or even the hope. Wishing for things that ultimately don’t come to pass are not wrong in retrospect. It’s not why you came, but it was perfectly natural to have the fantasy. Let the thought simply be a cloud passing through your mind. It’s a thought, which does not define you. Your choice does, and you of course chose to not disturb his peace. It’s all goochi. No thought police. ACAB.

—-

I decided to stay a bit longer. I need to be back by the 8th for the psychic fair, but my dad agreed that it makes sense to take advantage of being here, after driving so far. If I do the trip back in 3 days, I’ll have almost a week. Part of me worries I need to get back to “real life” asap, start the art business, get your shit together, make some tangible progress. But ironically, this trip is teaching me that life shouldn’t feel like Temple Run. There’s no mutant baboon that will come tear you in half if you aren’t constantly making “progress”. You are working towards feeling safe, feeling OK, intrinsically – it’s here. This is what it feels like. We don’t have to live with bags packed anymore. We can just bee.