Void - Space - Emptiness - Vacuum

Tanya Davis wrote this beautiful poem about how to be alone: https://youtu.be/k7X7sZzSXYs

I've been pondering how to do this as I don't think I've ever been alone. Since the split, a part of me has been on the constant look out for a partner even though I know I really do not need one right now. Intellectually, I know I need to heal, to be happy with myself and my (mis)deeds, to be present for my child, and not to complicate my already complex life with another person's mosaic*.

But there is what seems to be quite a large void within me, that keeps signalling loudly that it needs to be filled. I know it should not be with another person but with... I struggle to fill this bit.

I read a lot about how one should find validation within oneself, but very little practical advice on how to do so or indeed what this actually means. And then there is the very definition of validation - seeking approval, is it? Is that it?

I wonder why I haven't instantly filled that space with my daughter - which seems, given my proclivities, to be the natural thing to do. I mean, when I was still tethered, I turned my attention to her much more. Perhaps it was a combination of the withdrawal of pharmaceutical aid and the re-birth of my identity+?

I often doubt my fitness to be a mother. I also sometimes doubt my fitness to be a friend, wife and colleague. I have a terrible suspicion that I am a lost cause and that people humour me out of pity.

It is at this point that I give myself a slap and go read a book, watch something inspiring or do some exercise. Distraction from the call of depression can be quite effective. It's whether or not you notice as it's quite insidious and can take you by surprise.

Frogs being boiled and all that.^

*Beautiful and fascinating as it may be. I love staring at mosaics, and following the patterns. I am astounded by the patience of the artists to place each tile.
+A very protracted process it seems. I suspect the answer to Who Am I will be constantly changing.
^ Not to be mistaken for frogs being dissected. That's for jokes.

Beauty is everywhere

As I lived through the birth and growth of digital music, a consistent lament has been for the death of the album cover. 

Sure, those large beautiful prints that you could cradle affectionately in your hands are a rarity now, but there is still a feast for the eyes out there. 

There is a certain sadness that we need a medium other than mere eyes and light to appreciate these, but they are there nonetheless. I love that we are still compelled to create visuals to complement the music. 

Oh, and today's doodle, done whilst on a phone call.

Wonder what my subconscious was processing here...

Meeting doodle

Are you normal?

Some days the imperative to write is quite impossible to ignore. Quite often it is simply to release the stream of consciousness that batters at the front of the mind.  I also have an inner film-maker who frequently throws up vivid fantasies behind my eyes. I have imaginary conversations in my head, and mini-dramas unfold as I go about my everyday. Of course, I am at the centre of all of these.

I question my sanity pretty much all the time*. Is this normal? But then, the question becomes 'Do I want to be normal?'. Most of my life has been lived with the fundamental belief that average is anathema, normal is for other people, that one should never be part of a flock: I will not be the same as all of you. I revelled in being the oddball, the rebel, the one who will always take the path less travelled. Damn, it gets tiring.

A good friend pointed out that normalcy is nothing to be ashamed of, and really, I could do with some of it right now. I believe she is right. What is normal, though? By what yardstick do I measure my mental health? I am certain that I can still be the weird and wonderful me without feeling like I'm losing my mind.

Let's go find out.

*At least three or more of my friends, and my sisters, have observed that I think too much, one of them has even dubbed me 'Girl Who Thinks (too much)'. It's a moniker I quite like, and relish even. Not exactly brimming with wit, but there is something appealing in its bare simplicity.

"Not everything that's broken, is meant to be fixed."

Today's doodle from my noodle... seems to be a repeating motif for me. 

I've been pondering the accumulation of things. 

When I first arrived here, all I had was a suitcase of clothes, a laptop, a passport and a folder of documents. Oh, I had possessions--books, art, tools, photo albums, letters, all the usual detritus of modern, privileged life--but I had left them all behind in my parents' apartment.

When I became a home owner... ah, that's when it began. I still didn't really have much in the way of furniture but when it came time to move, a van was required. Not just one load, but about 10 loads (I think). I suppose, that corresponds for every year I had lived in that house*.

I've since moved twice more and each time, the number of things have lessened. And I quite like that. I've come to the realisation that the fewer things I own, the better. You see, I am one of those who just can't seem to take care of things. Buttons that come off, tend to stay off. And almost anything that gets broken tends to stay broken+. And when you consider that my bedroom floor disappears regularly, and there is hardly anywhere to put down a mug without having to move something else, it would seem a sensible conclusion to come to.

Now, is there a correlation between my inability to maintain things, with maintaining relationships? I would argue that people are not things, and therefore there is none. But there is a small part of me arguing otherwise. And that part has small, extremely sharp teeth.

I've... removed quite a lot of stuff in the last six months. Many of those were gifts. I know some would say that getting rid of gifts is not the done thing. But why? They are just things -- not the people who gave them, not even representations of. In most cases, the giver probably won't even remember giving them. By throwing their gifts away, I'm not throwing them away. To me, the value of our relationship is not measured in material things, cannot be measured that way. I acknowledge that things can hold sentimental value - that they can remind us of the people we treasure, can become a symbol of someone dear, can be triggers for fond memories. But I think we only need one or two such emblems, not a box room full of them. Eventually, all they become are dust catchers.

I take comfort in the fact that an indoor plant that an ex-colleague had given me on his last day two years ago is still thriving on my desk. So a living thing is surviving my ministrations. A symbol that I can take care of things.

*Well, there were two of us, and it's debatable whether half of those loads were mine. I am inclined, now that we've split, to say that maybe a third, if that, did actually belong to me.
+Unless a kind-hearted friend takes pity on me.

"... when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness"

My doodle for today, our calendar for May.

I have a number of hopes this month and I hope they will all come to pass. 

A friend has a tattoo which roughly translates as "I hope for nothing". I looked it up and the writer, Nikos Kazantzakis (Zorba, the Greek; The Last Temptation of Christ) has it as his epitaph: "I hope for nothing. I fear nothing. I am free."* Philosophically, it could be he has accepted life as is and has achieved a state of non-desire, the Buddhist nirvana. But to have no desire -- which hope is an expression of -- the idea seems counter to life. To me, to be alive is also to strive. In order to strive, one must have desire to do so. So if you no longer hope, then you no longer strive. Ergo, you are not alive. At least emotionally so. My friend, I hope that this is not what you want. It can be very attractive to be emotionally void -- to feel no pain, no despair, no crushing disappointment -- but you will also no longer feel joy, delight, and crucially, love, because you cannot have one without the other. If there is a more positive interpretation of this, I'd like to hear it.

My mini project's D-day is 10 May: I hope I will see it through, and I hope it's a hit. I hope for many things, and yes, I will be disappointed when some of those hopes are crushed, but to stop hoping? I may as well just stop.

*Since he is dead, it just makes that statement a simple truth.