Sometimes I worry about thinking and overthinking. Not sometimes. Frequently.
A friend told me not to ever quit reading and writing because he suspects it is what is keeping me sane. Uh sane-ish. My words, not his. The blog, he thinks, is helping me work things out.
I worry sometimes that what writing actually does is get things all stirred up that don’t need to be–the metaphorical sleeping dogs of my inner life.
Then I thought that really, it’s a sort of meditation. I can touch on things and start to either let them go or deal with them. It’s a way of catching myself spinning on something I am fixating on and saying “Hey, Dumbass. You’re feeling this. Maybe you should figure out why” but instead of just randomly obsessing about it, I can move past it.
It’s constructive. Ugh. When did I become constructive???
I’m not sure I approve.
And yes. That means he was right. It’s good for me.
You might not think so, but it’s hard. Hard just doing it every day. Hard being honest. Hard thinking of what to say. Hard even looking at myself this closely.
Lately my mantra has been if it’s uncomfortable then do it. If it’s uncomfortable, think about it. The blog is generally uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable at times. Maybe for the people who see themselves, too. I hope not.
Mostly? It’s about me, even when I am fixated on other people or my reactions to them.
Bear with me…
A friend and I spent the evening with another friend who had lost someone dear to her. We drank some beer and wine. Ate some food. Talked a lot. Laughed a lot.
I am always amazed at how healing laughter is, and how resilient humans are.
Or maybe Andi is just particularly amazing.
Well. Yes. We know this is true. I mean, we went over to comfort a friend and who came home with art? Andi got overcooked eggs, and Paddy and I got beautiful glass. This does not seem like a fair exchange!
I love you, Andi Mae!
You too, Paddy.