Dear Diary, 29, The Moment

Dear Diary,

How are you today?

I hope its been good! It is good to be good.

It is also good to not be good if that is the case. It is good to feel the feels no matter what. But that is scary and so difficult. I know when I am feeling the feels those are the moments where the last thing I want to do is engage with the feels.

Heck, Diary, sometimes the good feels are hard to handle. They may be the most hard to handle. Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve those feels. Sometimes I just can’t handle the intensity of the love or joy or delight coursing through my bones and guts.

I have also learned that the feels, good or bad, are there trying to make me feel better. They might be doing a terrible job, but they want the best for me. They just can’t communicate ‘cause I am not listening.

So, sometimes a good start to the process for me is taking a deep breath, find the ground with my feet and booty then and send in a “hey.” Or “hi.” Or “bonjour.” Maybe, if I am feeling brave, I will send in a “I’m here.”

Then listen.

But it is so intense to try and engage with the feels in this way. It can be dangerous, too. If I am not ready, the conversation will be harmful. I have learned there is much consent needed to engage with the feels. Consent is not just how I feel but how the feels feel.

It takes so much energy and focus to let go and step into the space where there is no guarantee about the ground. Is it uneven? Is it even there? What happens when I fall?

It is so scary. And it takes so much time. And sometimes we just don’t have the time to try. And that breaks my heart.

And embracing the feels takes so much trust. Like so much trust.

And love. And even a bit of levity, I think.

Building trust takes time. Pause is necessary. And finding quiet is important. But quiet can be found even in the loudest places.

Sometimes, I have found the loudest places are the best way to find quiet. I just have to listen for the break—that eighth rest just before the sweet, sweet drop.

I have been taught by some really amazing folk to focus on the spaces within the breath. Breathe before moving. Appreciate the moments between the inhale and exhale.

Or even more baffling, appreciate the moment post-exhale when the lungs are empty and the only thing there is to do is take another breath.

Sitting in that moment, enjoying the anticipation and craving can be amazing. It’s not about holding the breath. This is not about deprivation. It is not about suffering or indulging in the privation. It is not about glorifying pain. It is certainly not about hurting or harming the body in hopes of finding enlightenment.

It is finding that pause in single seconds. For me this single, brief moment is an infinite space that can feel like eternity until I break the surface with the next breath.

It is finding presence, I think. But please note that my words here may be very troubling or misguided. I am not sure, I am just being curious. I am looking for that levity, that trust, that love.

It is about love. Love for my body. Love for the air. Love for the moment. Love for the anticipation. Love for the sensation. Love for knowing when to push it. And most important, when to slow down.

If I am not totally wrong, my sense is that presence takes trust.

And trust takes love.

And love, well, takes love.

It is an infuriating cycle. And it’s amazing. And it is indescribable. The feels I am feeling are feels I never knew existed. The only other time I felt them was when I was intoxicated. But those feels are fleeting and inauthentic. And the cost that it takes to reach them is a major tax on the mind and body, a tax paid with interest.

Okay, diary, I think I am done now. That was a trip.

Thank you for listening. It means a lot Diary. I hope you are well.

Life is cyclical.

Life is redundant.

Life is repetitive.

Life is love.

More to come promise