Monday

Fully Starving

Stop. Breathe.


It all feels so real. The carefully procured creation in front of me. So real and yet so far. It reveals everything but it reveals nothing.


I know about you, but I don’t really know you.



I know you baby wear or that you’re home alone a lot while your husband travels. I know your dad is dying or that your child is in rehab again. I know you’re estranged from your family and from their comments I can see why. I know you’re eating paleo or I know you’re on your second round of chemotherapy.


But I know all these things while sitting in my torn sweatpants on the couch when I should be doing almost anything else. I learn these things when I’m trying to avoid eye contact in the checkout line. I read your latest updates when the red light is too long. I have 10 work emails to return and only four minutes to do it.


My head is filled with information: with voices and images. It’s filled with stories and with rage-filled arguments. A video of a police shooting autoplays before I can stop it. An image of a dying child held by her parents fills my screen before I can scroll past. I watch a boat of refugees almost drown. A child doesn’t make it. And my 30 second respite from the real world is at once removed and utterly devastating. Now I have a meeting I’m late for.


Stuff. Stuff. Stuff. Stuff it down.


My world is at once lonely and flooded. I know so much but have touched so little.

My life is ridiculously busy. I should spend more time with friends but where is there any time? How can I fit more into my world? How, in God’s name, can I digest one more thing? I am starving and bloated; craving contact but also stuffed full until my skin feels raw.


My life is ridiculously busy. I should try to eat more organic vegan paleo nutrient-dense homemade meals from scratch. But I find meals catch me by surprise almost every time. Oh, we’re supposed to eat again? Scramble.


What is this life? I keep waiting for it to find it’s balance; to settle into a pattern that makes any sense. It doesn’t.

Pack the car for the day. I’ll need a change of clothes for everyone, two for my oldest. Make sure to bring water bottles, preferably filtered and non-disposable. The earth is dying. Have to do my part. Don’t forget my laptop so I can get work done when I steal a few minutes.


I keep waiting for this elusive balance. For it to make sense. It doesn’t.

We just keep going. I seem to be the only one bothered by this. Everyone else has adapted fine. Am I the only one who feels there is something terribly wrong? I could almost believe that.


Except.


Except that I have plenty of clients who drink up my eye contact like it is cool water in a desert. Those who relish the thought of turning off their phone for one blessed hour. And it is only for that reason that I know; We are all fully starving. At once anxious and flat. At once overwhelmed and bored.


We are not wired this way, you and I.


I guess what I’m saying is: if you are desperately busy. Waiting and waiting and waiting for it to fall into a balance that makes sense. A balance that evades you.


You are not alone.

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