Trying Again

Day one or one day? What am I even waiting for? That perfect moment that I know doesn’t exist? For some inexplicable reason, I always feel that everything I want to do needs to have such meaning.

Why do I feel like everything has to be weighted in such importance? I highly doubt my miniscule existence even matters in the grand scheme of things.

This feeling seems to affect everything I do… or don’t do.

My feelings and thoughts betray me. I can’t just post something because I wrote it and want to share. No, I have to post at the perfect day, at the perfect time.

Just doing it isn’t enough, it has to be felt. It has to be seen… because maybe that means that I am also seen.

Most of my time is spent trying to be invisible. Which is an interesting parallel to how others see me.

And the truth is, I don’t know how they see me anymore. I don’t even how I see me. Growing up, I just felt like there was one me, and I was sorting through it all and trying to figure out who I even was. I thought, as I got older, the pieces would fall into place.

As I got older, more pieces fell, but there wasn’t a place for them.

Be yourself, they tell you. But only if yourself fits into how they want you to be. You’re one way with your friends. You have to be different at work. Every situation calls for some other version of who you are, at your core. There seem to be few places where you can go and just… be who, exactly, you want to be.

The one awesome thing about my Dad (and don’t get me wrong, there were plenty), was that he was the original DGAF. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him. He was unapologetically himself.

It’s something I am still trying to learn from him, but it’s a lot harder now that he’s gone.

In one week, it will be one year since he passed on. And I have feelings. Lots of feelings that have swirled around inside. Feeling this level of grief has manifested itself in very interesting ways over the past 51 weeks.

I’m no stranger to death, but each passing hits me differently. I understand that this is a part of life, but that doesn’t make it any easier to handle.

Maybe I’ll get there. Or maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life trying. Which, I guess, is all any of us can really do.