The more I stress about what I’m writing, the shittier it gets (or at least, the more I hate it) which is a great excuse for the lack of blogs I’ve posted lately. Nonetheless, I’m writing this one in acknowledgment that it’s probably shitty and I just don’t care, because, as you’ll read below, I’m quite tired of caring.
Theories, philosophies, experiments, tries & fails: this is how we live our life. No one really knows what they are doing. It’s the timeless matter of putting one foot in front of the other (or at least, another day of waking up and remembering to put pants on) and then attempting to move forward to whatever length we are capable. We all like to assume we have an idea about the right way (or at least, a better way) of living our lives than our neighbours, but don’t kid yourself; we have as a little of a clue as they do. Some people are better at lying to themselves (I occasionally wish I was more talented in this regard.)
We have ideas on the best way to get a good job - and what is considered a “good” job, and how much is considered “good” pay at said job.
We have theories on the best way to have a relationship – everyone has different expectations and thoughts on how to make them work and what is considered appropriate and healthy.
Even the countless separate thoughts on what is considered a worthy use of our time will be revealed as internal and external debates concluding in confusion and/or depression.
Yes, I’ll say it. Life is just a gigantic opinion of whatever you think it to be. But then again, that’s simply my opinion. I’m sure you disagree. (But first, be really sure you aren’t lying to yourself.)
(Don’t worry – this post won’t end as depressing as it sounds like it will.)
Over the years I’ve become increasingly proud of my large, mental paper stack of theories and developments on how I should live my life. At this point, I’m actually amused by how all the while I was building these massive piles of ideas in my mind, I truly believed I was learning to let them all go; learning to live free and uninhibited by social and self-set boundaries!
I scoff in my general direction. You can, too.
This constant effort to make sense of things while remaining open-minded and attempting to view alternative perspectives, but hold an opinion and stay objective, yet remember to feel feelings; and always push forward and take control of your life, yet don’t forget to sit back and enjoy the moment while going with the flow; chase your dreams, all the while letting them go so they can come back to you; use your wings to fly, but now and again don’t be afraid to free fall; an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but don’t eat them every day because they’re highly acidic and cause Candida…
All I have now is a mind-office full of falling, burning confetti.
The explosion happened a while back and I think I’ve spent the last few months internally (frantically) attempting to collect and re-organize this imaginary manuscript - “Beliefs and Theories and Everything I’ve Figured Out about Life" by Miranda Landry. About a month ago, I realized how much effort it would actually take to make sense of all these conflicting thoughts and theories that I was trying to organize in my mind. The possibility of any sense or sagacity is slim.
So I am now imagining myself sitting in my little mind-office: hair standing straight-up, hands clutching tiny pieces of smoldering opinions, tears clearing the ash from my flushed cheeks as I watch the glowing embers of burning hindsights and lessons-learned drift to floor around me. There is a part of me that would like to stay there and cry, because there is no other way of expressing the frustration and disappointment upon slamming head first into the realization that the only thing you know about life is whatever you imagine it to be; all that effort, time and sacrifice you put in to building this castle of knowledge and expectations of what life is supposed to be, doesn’t actually exist (and perhaps never did.) But there are other options.
I can spend eternity sorting through the mess, analyzing it all over again, and re-writing it in vain for some false sense of security that there is an equation to life that makes sense and a solid sensible belief I can live out.
Or I can give-up. I can sweep it all into a dustpan and put it in the garbage, never haunted by it again, and to live in the depressing simplicity that life has no meaning to explore.
But it looks kind of pretty, all these burning, fluttering, half-worked-out, absurdly confusing thoughts, lessons and beliefs falling all around me. I’ve decided, as long as the confetti is still falling (and it’s never-ending, trust me,) I’m just going to put on my best dress, find my bestest friends, and dance around in this big, beautiful mess.