Daily life is something I wish I had a guidebook for. I wish someone could train my body to have energy between the hours of 10 and 2, 4 and 6 (OR ALL DAY LONG). I wish someone could tell me when to do what, how to manage this, how to manage that, when to take a break, when to do the important bits, when to do the fun. I just notice THAT is where my energy goes. I get myself in a pickle Every. Bloody. Day. I have a gazillion things I know I need to or could do, but aren’t necessarily urgent, yet I find myself swimming in the to-do’s, I get the urge to just sit and write, to sit and read or to relax in some other way, but I end up getting overwhelmed with not having structure, not having the focus, motivation, to do just that. And, I have a bloody brain full of thoughts, racing away. A racing mind is SO on the cards at the moment. I’m struggling with that.
I have realised though, this happens when I don’t write. I don’t spill out my thoughts, creatively. My mind is so full of emotions, feelings, memories, thoughts, and I just get lost in them. They take charge, not the grounded self I have inside me somewhere. Instead I’m lost and at the mercy of my mind.
Life just feels like such a complex recipe. It’s like the most complex cake out there. If I get one ingredient slightly wrong – a dash too much of this, or a dash too little of that, I don’t rise. I don’t bake and cook, and heal and grow. One too many fucking spoonfuls of dinner, one too many fucking therapy sessions, one too many fucking moments outside in the cold, one too many fucking moments in front of the computer, and I begin to crack and crumble and burn. Spontaneous and free is how I cook and how I like to live life. But recently I have noticed the great effect of this throwing in of additional ingredients into the mixture. Instead of rising up anyway, regardless of whatever I’ve done, I lie flat, bubble a bit, bake and cook in painfully wrong, too hot, conditions. I feel lost and alone in my self discovery oven.
I want someone to tell me what to do. I want someone to give me a handbook, a recipe book that I can follow step by step to create my favourite recipe – the best life recipe for me, so I don’t have to faff around with feeling so lost, out of my depths, a complete eggy mess. But I know in my heart that the only person who knows the recipe for me, is me. The only person that can know the perfect temperature for my oven to be, is me. And I also know that the only way to find the recipe that makes the most wholesome and wholehearted cake that can be, is to play around with the ingredients, oven temperatures, and size of tin, and by slowly learning as I go. And, to expect days where I feel like I’m sinking. To expect days where I do actually sink. To expect days where I add something that I absolutely hate the taste of. To expect days where one minute it tastes amazing and one minute it tastes like shit. To expect days where I crack and burn and crumble and fall over the edge.
And most of all, to know that none of this means I am getting further from building my favourite recipe, I’m getting closer and closer.