Morbid Thoughts on Morning Commute

I wish sometimes that I could port my thoughts directly into text - dreams of some sci-fi future from the 80's that never came to pass, or at least hasn't yet. I compose best in my head. By the time that I go to write or type it all out, it comes out not nearly as creatively as my thoughts had been. This is another attempt to extract meanderings in my mind that I had on my way into work at the theatre today.

Each time one bus leaves, the sidewalk is teeming with little old Asian people. Bus fills, sidewalk clears, bus departs, sidewalk refills... rinse repeat. I find myself singing a Beatles song in my mind "all the lonely people, where do they all come from?" as I board the next bus pulling up, gym bag over my shoulder with a newly purchased Revlon hair dryer that was on sale for $11.99. I hope it'll prevent my post-pool and shower wet hair from making me sick again. The air in San Francisco is too chill in December to be walking around with wet hair.

And then I remind myself again that it's December. Where did this year go? Why do I care so little for holidays that aren't about dressing up as someone you're not? My love of Halloween is probably because I'm so unapologetically me the rest of the year. But my feeling of meh about Christmas and such could be a number of things really... family hasn't ever been a huge thing in my world outside of my grandparents, now deceased, and my Mom. My half brother and I were never really close save a short stint in our early 20's when I was partying like it was 1999... because it was. He doesn't call, but neither do I, and it doesn't seem that big a deal for the most part.

But I digress... I'm back in my mind on the bus. As is a normal thought lately, I'm surprised to find that I am probably the youngest person aboard. And the only one with blue hair wearing legwarmers for sure. The bus pulls up at a stop and a dozen or so elderly shuffle out like geriatric penguins. I've been standing rather than risk the evil eye of someone a generation or two ahead of me when the next wave boards. I honestly avoided taking the 30 or the 45, mostly due to my lack of empathy for people who block the sidewalk, and Stockton being a nightmare of cheap produce markets and all sorts of giant jars of unidentifiable objects labeled in a cryptic language I don't understand. I'm guessing it's Mandarin or Cantonese. I've never been very clear on how to tell the difference between many of the languages of Asia save Thailand, but that's mainly because I lived there for a year. I still couldn't tell you what any of the little symbols sound like by sight.

I take a seat finally, three stops before mine. The little old man next to me gives me the once over in a way that makes me think of zombies, stirring a morbid thought to the surface. It's one I've thought many times in my life, but more and more the older I get. Man, I don't want to be like that.

I've said before I've never had a fear of death. Death is fine - nobody knows what happens afterward. There's a lot of conjecture and some maybe believable experiences that are 100% based on trusting the story you're being told by someone who could very well be full of shit. What I fear is frailty, helplessness and memory loss - the trifecta of what seem like inevitable parts of growing old.

How broken in spirit people seem to be at that age - people my age even, who am I kidding? My mind drifts into a philosophical space that ties back into why I have a distrust of community and by proxy holidays having to do with community. Our world is built on community agreement about the stories we hear and learn and understand. From the start children are lied to about a myriad of subjects - Santa Claus is a good one that people think has no real impact on kids' psyches. According to Steinbeck making something from your life that's outside the wheelhouse you're born into is an impossible dream. We learn that people lie "for our own good." To protect us. And in a way, it tells us nobody is honest. It makes me wonder if that's what breaks people's spirits - that they stop believing; stop trusting. We're spoon fed this idea that if we conform to whatever standard we find ourselves in, then we're doing good in the world - a world that continues to have starvation & disease & war. But don't worry, you're doing the right thing just following the footsteps of everyone generations before ours - they wouldn't lie to you, right? And hey, if you're more financially successful that just goes to show you've improved upon the previous generation. My heart's just never been in it, because I always come back to this other morbid thought - let's call it #2, because it's poopy.

None of it matters.

You hear people say it all the time - that the journey is what matters, not the destination. Why does the journey even matter though? Some people have awful journeys that are entirely out of their hands like being born in a place being bombed by some other more powerful country. Or a place that cuts off parts of your body because it's a purification ritual. Or a place where you're so poor that your single mom, let's say, works all the time and you basically are on your own to figure things out, with your only thought being that you don't want to struggle like that when you're an adult, but the only way you see to get out of that is to also work all the time at a job you hate because at least you won't be poor, but then you find you just can't do it because you feel it's completely meaningless to continue to drudge through and try to follow a path that doesn't feel right for you.

Yeah that last part may have been a little personal. But I know I'm not alone in feeling completely cheated by how this world is and a bit helpless to change it - one part of the 'old' trifecta, remember? People tell me I've got a sadness behind my eyes... and that helplessness is what it is. We live in a world where anything is possible. And inherently we know that, but at the same time we don't really believe it. We find that it's just too overwhelming - like being born in a red state as a blue voter. You feel like whatever you do doesn't really matter, because the tide is against you. The only option really is to leave, because convincing a million people that their view isn't going to make things better is ridiculous - or in my case, I'd be purple in a red or blue state trying to explain that the whole game is rigged. Nobody wants to hear that.

That's how life often feels to me. People run around the world acting like they know what's best for everyone else while secretly they're doing all the things they tell people not to do. How can one be that way and not understand that means everyone else is probably doing the exact same thing? I feel really alone in that thought. It's why when people ask why honesty is so important to me, I tell them "if I am not honest how can I ever believe anyone else is?" So it goes for everything. But the truth is - I think everyone is a liar and a hypocrite, but I get that it's not their fault they have been that way - it's only their fault if they recognize it and continue to lie. Not that I think there is any saving anyone with that rhetoric. I mean, look at Jesus Christ. Of course he let them crucify him - he saw the pointlessness of it all, and knew this was the best he could offer - not taking part in it. Then of course there are stories about him coming back to life and all, and maybe that stuff happened, but even if he rose from the dead and told everyone "See! It's all a lie!" the impact was and still is: people kill in his name, almost indiscriminately sometimes.

That's where my mind ended up on the bus wishing I could port my thoughts into text surrounded by the aged populace of San Francisco who I can't help but wonder if they ever even think about these things. That in the end, even if you are the greatest being ever to walk to Earth - even if you got everyone to understand how they've had blinders on and can choose something else - you'd be spoken of anecdotally when you're gone at best, and murdered for at worst.

I think that's why spirits get broken. The fight is pointless. Yet I continue to fight it for some insane reason. I continue to be real and honest and give my best at all things. But I wonder if that's out of my fear of being broken - of turning into an old cataract-eyed waddling penguin of a human riding a bus back and forth to who knows where wishing I'd done things differently until the day they find my body and tell stories about what a crazy lady I was. I don't want to be regretfully elderly. And the most morbid thought of all - in all its selfishness is: I hope either I die or the world ends before I become that. Wish for that on your birthday candle. I just wish the world would be different for us all.

And that's a typical morning commute in the mind of me. You're welcome.

A Key Fitting Into a Lock

For half a moment I considered ridding myself of this stupid obsession I have with love... or with writing about love... or anything to do with that silly romantic notion that has been a driver of every creative thing or random adventure this life has held for me. Everything. When asked what drives me the answer is always love. Always. My understanding of what that looks like is tumultuous and ever-mutating, shifting, growing, accepting. For a moment I thought maybe I needed to shut the fuck up about the topic completely... But then I remembered something someone once said to me - that no matter what happens in my life... "Stay being you. Stay being just you... You are something special."

And then I remembered that I trust this universe to bring forth exactly what I need when I need it most. It always has - for me at an incredibly unusual rate - which I've been told is because serendipity and synchronicity are something I am seeking. Works for me! Sure I've worked hard to have things I want, and I've created possibility & opportunity with that drive. But in this world, I feel it's a balance - you get what you give... like the New Radicals song from the 90's said. So I try to give communication, patience, acceptance, laughter, adventure, and love. Those are the things I want most in life.

All that being said, it's easy to get caught up in the emotions of others and lose sight of yourself and what matters to you. It's also easy to get caught up in the insecurities of others and the misguided perceptions of others and allow those things to tarnish the core of who you are. But tarnish is all they can really do, because the core of who we are is unbreakable. At least that's what I believe. It takes some time to polish that tarnish off sometimes (or maybe a pickax or a blowtorch), but it's always worth it.

I've noticed that on first thinking about things I'm dealing with, I blame the perceiver for their incorrect understanding. Then I tend to blame whatever circumstances may be at play between us. And then I realize that it really comes down to a failure in my own communication, and often in my myopic view not recognizing the impact of my actions or words. It leads me to a place of introspection about how to better land in the world around me in a way that I intend. I talk about "Intention versus Impact" a lot in conversation, wherein I say that the impact may not feel like it's more important, but it is when it comes to how to deal with a problem - or at least it should take priority. Intention can't be understood if someone is so deep in the impact of it they can't hear what you're saying. Whatever happens, every circumstance is an opportunity for growth, and I try to recognize that. To continue on the path of greater comprehension and... kind of an odd sort of premonition I suppose of the future, I have to be more conscious of the impact I make. I have to have a greater understanding of people who are not like I am, because those folks seem to be the ones I inadvertently hit the hardest. I'm not like most people. I'm willing to talk about pretty much everything with pretty much anyone. I rarely feel things like jealousy or regret - I am the eternal optimist, and every struggle - every tear shed - is part of the journey toward being the person I want to be. One with both an incredible passion and an equal measure of humility. It's a very delicate balance between the two.

And of course I digress... Like I do. I've got no idea if anyone even reads things I write, not that it matters, really... Though if you want to understand me, it's a good place to start. I don't even know if it makes any sense, or if my rambling poetic nature causes massive whiplash from eyerolling. Don't worry, it's a daily occurrence at myself as well. I think if I had a day where I didn't consider myself to be possibly the most ridiculous individual I know, I would think something was very wrong with the world.

So, TLDR - I fuck up! It's true. But I'm working on things, and always failing better. Every step feels like a new lock falling away... a new door opening to some new level of understanding. It's funny to me that people think I never make mistakes. That I'm just naturally good at things. I hear it a lot. I can safely say this month: Nope! I make mistakes with gusto. While I can keep a secret like the best of them, generally I tend to put it all on the table. And as I've learned... when it comes to anything to do with my heart, I go blind. It's a lock I haven't quite found the key for yet. But I think I may have it around here somewhere.

Have you? (a stream of thought blog about soulmates)

Have you ever met someone who no matter time or space the connection you have is unchanged - untouched by the wars that ravage around us all? Like you had made a special request to the fantastic band that creates the soundtrack to the universe and they released this song, and it was completely and utterly yours? Someone you perhaps spend a lot of time telling yourself you're ok they aren't in your world more closely, but honestly you hate it more than words can say that they are so far away. Someone who when you see them after a period of perhaps two years you are overwhelmed with gratitude that they still live and breathe, and suddenly feel as though you've been holding your breath for a very long time and the air tastes so incredibly sweet. And you understand their communicative quietude as probably wisdom when they look at you and say yes... yes, they believe in meant to be, but it's not been worked out just yet. And you forgive them for "life getting in the way all the time" because you know it does for you too. Someone who when the two of you find yourselves within reach you cannot refrain from having some part of your bodies in contact at all times - a finger, a knee, a head on a shoulder - it doesn't matter as long as there is contact - as long as you both can sense the realness of the other - and you know that feeling is mutually why your fingers are entwined. And it's never contrived. And it's impossible to focus on anything but that touch and those eyes and that ridiculous Scottish-lilted laugh that cuts through the hidden Scottish pub where you decided Scotch for breakfast was better than nothing because your appetite had vanished the moment you saw one another.... And you chuckle to yourself, because Scotland. And you want more than anything just one moment longer of their fingers pressed into the back of your neck, and their giggling at the fact that you have tears welling up in your eyes. You laugh together at how completely idiotic it is that it's been so long apart, when it feels as though you'd said goodbye yesterday even tho so much happened in those two years. And you promise to both be better about being in touch even tho you know the only way that will happen is if one of you moves... and you know that means you, because it's who you are. And you let that seed start to germinate a little more in your mind. And you know the communication will be as it ever is, because you both live far too much in the here and now to worry too long for anything outside of it.... until you do. "You feel like home to me..." you say. And he says yes, he knows. You can't not tell him the truth always - you told him you loved him the last time you said farewell, which was the second time you'd been in one another's presence. It's always been so. And yes... You feel at home here... in this city... with a silence of the jigsaw puzzle falling into place in a way you can't describe with words... but with gazes and touch and laughter and... can't I just breathe for a little longer here? What does it take to have this not be yet another pause in a story so incredibly... ours. We pinky swear we'll see one another before another two years has passed. Might be in SF, might be NYC, might again be London. But it's a promise I plan to keep. I told my mother once I didn't believe in soulmates... I was lying. I just, didn't believe I'd ever find mine, or perhaps I'd be too dumb to recognize it when I did. I was wrong. Have you met someone like this? I have... once. Two years ago. When I asked the universe for a song I'd recognize. And there he was... the most beautiful song I'd ever heard. And OMG I am the sappiest person on Earth, I swear. He is so significant in my heart... on a level that is mind-blowing to me every time I think of it. Unconditional. Timeless. "There ain't nothing that we need 'cept one thing... and it ain't hope, though that can help I suppose. Stamina. Stamina. Stamina. Stamina...."