IAmNotBritish, episode twenty-eight
Happy Brunch Sunday from Florida. Let's raise our mimosas or mugs and clink a cheers to a bit of connection between work, notices and ads in our inbox. Written with a London accent in my head. Reading with an accent is completely your (next best) decision.
Couchtime: this is where we sit together with a beverage and talk about our lives and work out our thoughts about all the things.
These emails started as an increase in my couchtime, before I'd ever heard of the corona virus.
I appreciate the blissful escape of guesting in someone else's head. What a break it is from being in my own.
I'm much less comfortable with my own bleeding.
But...it is my turn.
It's uncomfortable, letting someone help me, if they can--rock stars who have their own drama balanced enough to listen to mine.
I rarely ask. I just bleed. Thankfully, someone is usually able and willing to help.
We are all bleeding. Why should I be any different? I am willing to take the turn. Again.
It means I am alive.
What a weird time for the world. We dance in our space or cuddle with ourselves and feel alone, probably both. Our closets have a new, categorized section of Zoom shirts.
In addition to the collective weird, we have a special sort of disaster in the U.S. Yay, lovely. Big, even for us. A national ache. An international embarrassment.
We can't all move to Denmark, Norway or Canada. The desirable countries all have common-sense immigration laws. Of course, totally necessary. One has to be employable, and then justify why a job should be given to you over an existing citizen who is just as qualified. Tough gig. Is New Zealand still inviting people to come?
This is one of my impulses right now. Break free. Run. Drive. Fly. Do what is necessary to not feel the feelings. Suck our thumbs for comfort. SUGAR. Bread.
I'm a little old to run away from home.
My other impulse is anger. Cover it all up with a thick layer of murky frosting. Cut others as they cut me. Slash. Punch.
But I can't do that--I don't do that. I mean, a few times in high school. But not since.
I punch myself, though.
Often. At least every waking hour. Little things. If others find me lacking and make a comment. Or if they don't, and I notice their eyes shift. I kick myself for them.
The fear of being less-than, causes me to suffer in advance.
I am blaringly aware, all at once, of my feelings, character flaws and motives and why I desperately desire love from others.
Ignite a big change and all of it comes up.
There is a thread through these unpredictable days. Mine is the transition color of grey-lavender, and is slightly hopeful.
I've pocketed a bunch of behaviors that help with my mood and with thinking clearly. Sometimes, it's hard to make myself do them. Those days dip.
The following morning, hope is the tiny bubble that pops back up, followed by a strong desire to get back to the caring routine of checking gratitude. Music follows that, healing all the crusty pockets of my mind.
This is the part where we stay, and deal with the life we have built.
Pay the bills and bathe the dogs.
Align with others who have more difficulties than ourselves. Feed, clothe, comfort. Listen.
Today's Deep Breath: (Here's a practical juju nugget, a collective Next Best Decision.)
I would love to listen to you. Distract me. Email me back with grief, mourning, loss, sadness, hunger, disrespect, anger, or love.
If you'd rather not share at this time, here's a few questions to ask yourself, or perhaps journal about. They really do help:
What is my general opinion of me?
What's the story of my past? Can I change that to be more helpful?
What do you want today, and in your future? (bingbingbing)
What do you think of your body?
Brainstorm 10 ways to love yourself daily. How can you trigger yourself to do these things?
Write 10 good things about yourself and put it on a large post-it on your mirror. Read them as your wash your hands.
Have a daily list of little things that are positive. Today my list of things that went right starts with: my social media post about early voting, writing my brunch email, journaling about my feelings yesterday, listening to music.
Thank you for being here with me.
Until next time,