We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) get drowned out.
Just as the heat releases and the air gets still, the dark starts to settle in. I really resist it. It makes me feel unsettled and a bit cheated when I first notice it gets quite dark by 7, then 6, now 5. I wonder how I will ever find energy to live through the winter or even through the night. And then it dawns on me, light a candle. Find a way. Let your eyes adjust to the dark.
It started last year. I did not think about it too much beforehand, however, I found myself on a solo overnight trip to my friend's beautiful place in Cape John. It was the right kind of trip in every way. Being alone had so many great benefits. I pleased myself exclusively. I went shopping in a second hand clothing store. I went swimming when I felt hot. I sat and stared at swaying grasses for as long I needed to. I ate cheese and crackers and the only time I cooked anything it was to make coffee. This year, I had a night by myself in a cute little trailer by a very still and shallow lake. I forgot that I had promised myself the year before to always have a vacation day/night by myself each year. I won't forget again.
Have you ever felt compelled to google mystery symptoms in the middle of the night? I have. I know I am not alone. What is this rash? Is this bug a bed bug? Does this fever mean I am dying or just slightly ill? These questions loom large in the dark. We are urged not to do this, that instead, we should ask a health professional (or accost one at a social event). "Nice to meet you, how are you with moles? Have I got one for you!" This is how I have been feeling about emotions lately. Due to global reasons I do not need to mention, I have spent a lot of time apart from others. I still talk to my friends and family every day, but it is rare right now that we are actually in the same room doing stuff together. I cling to those fleeting moments of closeness like no one's business and get nourished by them long after we have to go back to our respective cubby holes, but the constraints on those times are real. As a result, I am starting to realize that even emotions are