There are times when there is literally nothing else we can do except wait. There are times like now for example; there’s nothing we can do about the epidemic or the pandemic (if this is one) and monitor the facts until things change.
Most of all, there are times when there is nothing else we can do but implement our own model of self-care plan. We can do nothing else but settle in because for all we know, this ride could be short or long but either way, the best plan to have is a plan that serves us best.
In my case, at least for me, I am here and back in a seat that I have not sat in for a few days. I am in my room with you, which is really just a figurative place. This is place is virtual, I agree, but this does not mean where I am is not real, because it is real. Most of all, this place is real to me. And there’s no one else here but us.
This place is as real as anywhere else. In fact, there is nothing else this real because this is the place where I find me at my best.
I come here to close off the world and sit down in my room. I shut the door (figuratively speaking of course, because there is no door nor walls in this place to be honest) and with nothing else but the monitor’s whitish light to brighten my view before the sun comes up, I allow my fingers to punch the keys.
I type and watch words appear on the screen, which, I have to tell you —it’s pretty damned magical sometimes. It is amazing to see my thoughts put into words and form sentences on the screen.
I listen to quiet music to insulate me from the surrounding noise. Like now for example, as I type, I can hear the downpour of a 5:00am rainfall as it spatters against my overhead skylight, which I take and I use this because there is something so apropos, so fitting, so pertinent about the the moment at hand. The rainfall is imperative; however, to fit the need and to hush the world, like a soft lullaby, which calms the baby and hushes us back to sleep.
I come here because this is where I belong; this is my self-care. More than anything, I come here to find my voice without judgement, without criticism, and without regard for the critics because if nowhere else in the world, at least I have this little place of my own.
There are times when nothing makes sense. There are times when anxiety gets the best of me. Moreover, there are times when concern and insecurity gets the best of me and I lose or a slip due to my anxiousness, which leads me to do or say the wrong things.
There are times when my heart questions everything; meanwhile, same as you do or same as I suppose everyone does; deep down, all I want to do is just breathe. I just want to be free.
I come here because there is no reason for me to disguise myself. There is no judgement in this place of mine. There is nothing else but me, you, this room in my head and the countless stories I can rattle off, one at a time, and laugh (or cry) about the life we’ve lived or the things we’ve missed.
I ever tell you about the first time I got in the car and drove away?
I had no idea where I was going. I had no intention of going anywhere but at the same time, I was heading somewhere.
I wanted to go somewhere, and wherever it was, I suppose I was only hoping this place would alter the direction of my life or somehow change my speed.
I drove out east on Long Island. I had no clue where I was. But yet, I didn’t need to have a clue. I knew I would eventually find my way home, if home was what I was looking for.
Instead, I drove farther and farther away. I found a small little place at the east end of the island. I went in to have a bowl of soup. And mind you, soup is not my “Go-to” dish but it was on this day. It was perfect.
My car was not the best of cars. It was loud and mainly a piece of shit. Other people would make fun of my car, which was fine because pretty or not and quiet or not, at least the stereo worked. At least there was music. At least there was a steering wheel and a gas pedal to step on and take me away.
I found a small little cove that day, which I can see now in my mind’s eye. There was a small little bay-like cove. Nothing else was around me. No people, no places, and no things that linked me to anything that could (or would) remind me of the life behind me.
I was free to disconnect. I was fine to be here. And moreover, I was free to breathe and allow myself a moment to breathe without distraction.
Sometimes we just have to move away from the script. Sometimes we have to step away from our sorry apologies and pretended strategies. Sometimes we have to separate ourselves from the moment.
Sometimes we have to step away from everything —just for a minute, so we can breathe without distraction.
I don’t want to lose this life that I have. I don’t want to lose my momentum. I don’t want to shelter in place because of a flu-like virus that has changed our plans. I also don’t want to feed the irrational panic, which has apparently and perhaps rightfully overwhelmed the world, if not just the Tri-State area.
So, rather than give in, I come here to find my place and sit for a while with a cup of coffee in hand and think about taking a drive. Or, I could think about what it would feel like to have the sun on my face at a white sand beach with nothing else around me be the sound of the waves, the feel of warmth on my skin, and the breeze through my hair.
See, this is why I come here. So I can get away from the monotony of the world, so I can find my place, so I can feel free to be myself and sit here with you and just breathe without distraction.
The Written Addiction 