It’s getting harder and harder to find space in this wide open world. Half the problem is that it isn’t as wide open as we’d like to think. In a city with over 1.5 million people, you still run into the same faces. You have to avoid entire zip codes, bars, shows, and sub cars to really steer clear of the unwanted.
I’m wondering if there’s space for us all to stretch out and have…well, space. Space to feel safe, feel loved, feel adventurous, feel understood and fulfilled. It’s hard to imagine that all of this space needs equal room to stretch out either. That isn’t clear.
Maybe a model of a house would be a better visual. I, for one, need a big spacious living room, and a small comfortable, but safe bedroom. While some may need more space to be adventurous and understood, others may lack the space they need to feel safe and loved. To continue the thought, some need something baking in the oven while others would prefer a larger garden.
Here’s the question that leaves me stumped. If we don’t create a space where people can join us, can we really feel loved, understood and fulfilled? Or can we do it solo? Can we feel loved without someone holding us on a shitty day, understood unless we explain ourselves, or fulfilled if we exist in an empty room?
Recently I’ve been trying to cope with this stinging sensation in my chest. I’ve had some space revoked recently. It feels like I finally got my green card to my favorite private island with unlimited mojitos, only to find, upon arrival, deportation paperwork. Or like I’ve been patiently applying Neosporin to a cut only to break down and pick the scab.
When I was younger I feel on the steps of the rec center on the way to a gymnastics meet and tore my knee open. Sure it hurt like hell at the time, and was gushing blood, but I had adrenaline to help me cope. But when I picked that big ‘ol scab off it hurt more. Even the wind grazing the area hurt. Aren’t we told that if we pick at a scab it takes longer to heal?
We’d all like to believe that we don’t need emotions and the space to express them for functioning life. That all we need are the basics; food, water, shelter, air. But really, is our emotional life that disconnected from our physical life? Is it possible to have a muscle completely unscathed after a life of mixed emotions?
From what I’ve heard from the medicals in my life, it looks just like the pictures. But I’m sure if I ever stood above my exposed beating heart, it would probably look something similar to my right knee when I fell. Chock full of scraps and bruises, with a freshly picked scab.
Maybe it’s a life long dilemma, changes daily, or maintains consistency. I’m sure what fills and completes us will change as our needs change. Because sure, sometimes the proverbial pint of Ben and Jerry’s is the cure, and sometimes you want someone to hear you cry, but then there are unique moments when it’s just enough to hear yourself admit that you’re okay.
Without the shoulder, ice cream, or Neosporin. Alone, in your own space, with your very own scabbed, exposed, perfect heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment