control

lowercase thoughts on interconnectedness

been running up against this weird paradox of life: it’s true the world is a lot more malleable than I thought it was, and also at the same time there are parts of my bare existence I thought I had control over that I literally just do not

like, I have been going through this phase where I’ve been trying to enjoy things a lot, have a lot of fun, find the kernel of excitement in any experience. I definitely have been able to strengthen this muscle, but the effect of 1) good weather and 2) easy access to hanging out with people that I like has totally eclipsed most of my deliberate efforts. it’s kind of extremely humbling to go outside in the sun and be like, ohhh, so it wasn’t working this winter because it was miserably cold and the days were like four hours long and I spent most of those working and the streets were piled with disgusting snow for like five months straight. I’m thinking back on the days where I felt like I was just pulling myself through a straw to get from the start to the end of them; they make me feel extremely resilient, but also like, it’s just a different register of being. it is literally a season of life where the expectations change, or should change. sorry I’m from texas, maybe this is a very “southerner discovers winter” kind of post—but also, for some reason this didn’t register for me when I was living in pittsburgh, maybe because I was not as emotionally sensitive or like trying to be happy back then

yesterday morning I kept almost crying when I missed buses or trains on the way to work; I was like hahaha what is happening this is so interesting; and then later that night I started my period. like, oh, duh. this morning I woke up feeling like half of my cells were still asleep despite getting eight hours and I was like, I guess I’m working from home today and skipping yoga. or in any case—doing less

the subtitle of this post is lowercase thoughts on interconnectedness because my understanding of how little control I have over my life has grown in proportion to my understanding of how interconnected everything is: I go through the world feeling heat on my bare arms or rain dappling my cheeks or hearing the blare of horns or seeing my coworker smile or, or, or, and it feels like I’m a glass of water getting bits of food coloring dropped in it—there’s no boundary between me and the world, there is no volition involved in “outside” stimuli inducing sensation “in” my body, it just happens, and from the sensation stems feeling and then thought and then, regrettably, judgement

so like: how to thread the needle? what I mean is—how am I supposed to even be when I feel like the sheer inertia of bare existence is so powerful, where I don’t really have control over when I get to be happy or sad or comfortable or uncomfortable. really grappling with the fact that I am kind of just a leaf in the wind, but also like, I have managed to be a leaf in the wind who has ended up in some pretty enjoyable circumstances? again the paradox: increased sensitivity to everything has revealed to me a stunning lack of control over most anything, and also this sensitivity is the instrument which has allowed me to ask questions like “did I like the sensations I experienced downstream of this decision? if yes then try to do it more, if no then maybe give it another try but don’t worry about giving up soon.” the way something lands in my body is infinitely more memorable than trying to construct some evaluation in an entirely logical strata, divorced from any sensory reality. trying to think my way into serious peace and joy has always led me up an infinite m. c. escher staircase of argument and counterargument loosed from whatever is happening right in front of my face

there’s a lot of stuff about my life that isn’t what I would have chosen if given the chance, but my life is so incredibly mine in ways it has never been before, and that threads the days with this constant thrum of bewildered awe and gratitude. having clawed tooth and nail to live in new york has had the effect of imbuing every moment I spend walking the streets with a “holy shit I actually get to be here” feeling: even as I do my shitty commute with two transfers that was apparently enough to bring me to tears yesterday I’m like, it is crazy that I’m here at all, and I get to do it every single day