Can I live with discomfort? (Yes)

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When I think about the word balance, a word I’ve considered maybe somewhat irrelevant or inapplicable to my life, what I’m beginning to sense or feel, as much as understand, is that I am always in transition. I almost never arrive anywhere, and certainly don’t stay. I exist in flux even while viewing myself as being a creature reaching toward, aiming toward, permanence.

Yet I am human, mortal, entirely impermanent.

Rituals exist to pin down significant moments; because the moments in my life run together like water. But what I’m glimpsing in the word balance is a peace in accepting this state. I’m seeing the fluidity in my being in all of existence, in the way time moves, and that I move in time. I’m seeing that I am of my time, immovable from the history that surrounds me even if this history will not remember or know me, especially.

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During the lockdown, my work was not deemed essential. Because it isn’t. I am not planting vegetables or stocking shelves or administering tests or researching cures or triaging patients or caring for those who need special care. My work has been on the page, and in the home.

I’ve had time. And I’ve noticed that, given the time, I can write and imagine in a bigger way than I had before. I’ve noticed, too, that I continue to feel anxious, to experience existential dread, to float in the brine of my own small shames, to wish often to be better than I am. That has always been with me, will always be with me. Feelings come and go and come again. I’ll always have feelings, mixed up and catching me off-guard and demanding my attention. It’s my response to the feelings that is changing.

Can I live with discomfort? The answer is yes.

Disappoint myself or disappoint others? Sometimes the choice is pretty stark. Sometimes you can’t square the circle. Sometimes — often, really — you cannot please everyone, and by trying to do so, you please no one, least of all yourself. What is your inner voice whispering? Does it hurt to hear it?

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I’m trying out an experiment. I’ve come to believe that I don’t have time to do most things, let alone all things. Just write. Cook. Read, research a bit. Yoga, run. That’s it. A little bit of housework. Parent, pay attention to my kids. Be a good friend. That’s it.

Whether it brings me anything, doesn’t matter. It’s the ego wants things brought to it. This is my river. Is it service enough to just write? I don’t know. But I’d like to find out. Or try.

Time to unfold, unfurl, spread out. What’s the rush?

What am I hurrying to discover? It all comes to light in time.

xo, Carrie

Some days
Why you need to read a book right now

4 Comments

  1. Time to unfold, unfurl, spread out. What’s the rush?…. I feel the same way. Thanks for sharing.
    Lucy

    Reply
    • Yes. It feels like there’s time to breathe.

      Reply
  2. Long time reader of your blog. Love “Rituals exist to pin down significant moments; because the moments in my life run together like water.”
    Your writing reminds if Heather Havrilesky Ask Polly form The Cut and her alter ego Ask Molly.
    I especially like your openness and asking the questions that don’t alway have easy answers.

    Reply
    • I haven’t read Heather Havrilesky, will have to look her up.
      Thank you for reading, and thank you for your response.

      Reply

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