When It's Quiet

When it’s quiet in my house, I get restless.  So many thoughts run through my head.  From the simplest to the abstract, I pace around my house searching for a little reprieve.  I often will settle into a fictional tale and that will suffice until dreams take the wheel of my maniacal wonderments.  Lately my dreams have been nothing short of puzzling.

Frequently, I have read into the interpretation of the subconscious.  There have been many times the things I’ve read have been spot on to what my dreams project.  I have even tried the senseless activity of dream conjuring.  Seems silly even typing that.  But, there are some that believe we can provoke certain types of dreams through meditation before sleep.  I’ve never accomplished that theory.  So it remains just that.  A theory.

When it’s quiet, in my restlessness, I reflect.  The path my life has brought me to is so content, it’s scary.  There is very little in my life to complain about.  Sure, there will always be a material object I crave, but the intangible satisfaction is great.  Never before in my life have I felt this at peace with my world.

I’ve started writing about this over the course of the past year, and haven’t been able to quite put into words how I feel.  The best way to describe my status requires no elaborate description.  Despite this sense of solace, my mind still finds ways to make me feel as though I’m not at such peace.  Maybe my subconscious hans’t quite caught on to my consciousness.  There’s this wariness of the other shoe dropping.  My tendency to over analyze everything apparently doesn’t know how to stop.

Given my history of great loss and massive heartache, I understand my emotional panic mode.  There’s absolutely nothing tragic happening to me for the first time in a long time.  I’ve reached a very healthy place with my grief.  I can talk about those experiences without feeling anxious.  I cannot begin to tell you how relieving that is to feel.  

But, when it’s quiet, there’s this little echo of history resonating in the caverns of those empty places in my heart.  When my mind is given any inch to drift, I quickly find myself paddling against a current so strong, it feels as if drowning is the only escape.  That might sound contradictory to what I just wrote about being in a good place with my grief.  

Part of the reason I’m in this place of contentment, is because I’ve finally learned how to allow my emotions to take the lead when it’s necessary.  I allow myself a little pity party occasionally.  But I have figured out how to know when it’s time to pop the balloons and call the cops.  I’ve learned my limits.  I don’t tempt them.  It’s a daily exercise of restraint.  I work very hard to keep my mind from drifting to those places of depression.  I don’t give more than an inch, because frankly, that kind of paddling is exhausting.

When it’s quiet, I carry on an inner dialogue.  I think about the news, blogs I’ve read, I dream up things I’d like to accomplish, and I remind myself of my potential.  It can all get so convoluted.  Perhaps that is why my dreams are so nuts.  Too much thinking about how I’m going to change the world.  It’s a daunting task when you start to really entertain the notion.

A few weeks ago, I sort of got to tell my story to someone that didn’t really know me.  It’s amazing how much of who you are can be understood when you articulate where you’ve been.  Three days of deep and meaningful conversations would typically sound draining.  For me, it was relieving.  The sense of renewal I felt after sharing so much of myself was intense.

Now, I’m not so egotistical to think my story is anything so incredible, others should want to hear it.  But, knowing at the end of the three days I had one more person on the planet that now knows why I’m, me.  I suppose it was validating in a way.

When it’s quiet, I think about those things.  What makes me who I am.  I get wrapped up in that a little.  Even thinking about just a few experiences in my life, the very paved road behind me is easy to see.  Because my mind tears off into so many different directions at once, it makes it really hard to focus on one thing.  Even if that one thing is sleeping.  I’ll lay in bed and try to turn off the engine of my thoughts, but they’re so all over the place, I can’t even find the ignition.  I’ll try to think about something ridiculous, like meal planning and end up thinking about how I could open my own bakery.  I’m a terrible baker.  But it never fails.  Turning off my brain is hard to do.

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One day, I’m going to really write a book about my life.  If anything, for me and my lineage.  I’ve collected my blogs over the past five years and reviewed journals I’ve been keeping since I was 8 years old.  Maybe if someone else read the workings of my noggin, they’d be able to recognize why I think so deeply.

I wish all the time for a simple mind.  But at the very same time, appreciate complexity of the one I’ve got.

What in the world is the point of this blog?  Beats me.  Ramblings of my head at 11:00 at night.  I’m no Deepak Chopra, but I’ve got meaningful insight based on my own trials.  I think, very soon, I need to write about how I’ve come to this place.  I’m resilient.  I’m capable.  I’m creative.  Figuring that out has really put things into a phenomenal perspective.  

In all truth, I think this blog is indicative of a person who needs to spend more time with other adults and have some conversations about real stuff instead of ABC’s and counting.  Adult interaction....Yep.  There’s your point of the blog.  Anyone wanna grab a cup of coffee and chat about the wonders of the world?