I post and then cringe.
Did I really write that? I guess I did. But no one reads this stuff, right? Oh wait, they do?
F**k.
Retreat.
But I'm back, three months have passed, and I'm freshly back from vacation, a "spirit journey" to New Mexico where I found my spirit, and it turns out my spirit is kind of a bitch.
I know, I know. Some of you are thinking, "Oh c'mon, no you're not. Don't say that," while others are thinking, "And this is news to you how?"
When I think of my spirit, I like to think of her/me as white light and open arms, with a loving heart and the patience of Mary.
In reality my spirit is impatient and inflexible, anxious and judgmental, crossed arms and clockwatching, stressed out and burnt.
In other words, I am my spirit; my spirit is me.
How disappointing. I kinda hoped my spirit was, I don't know, if not Mother Teresa, Oprah. Or at least Ellen DeGeneres. But instead I'm Heather Chandler or Judge Judy, only without the lace collar.
Well, f**k me gently with a chainsaw. Who knew?
Which isn't to say I didn't have a great time on vacation. I truly did. I just hoped I'd find myself, and that, well, I'd be different. Better. And most certainly thinner.
I've always been jealous of those people who are carefree. I was born worried. Is this hospital sterile enough? I don't like the look of that nurse. Does this onesie make me look fat? Take this hat off me, I look stupid.
So I always think of vacation me as the me I want to be. And I have visions of me relaxed and rolling with the punches, maybe telling hilarious jokes to people throwing their heads back in rapturous laughter, charming the locals and sleeping through the night, all of it set to "Walking on Sunshine" or some other upbeat song about happy people doing happy things. But the problem is, it's still me. To tell you the truth, I honestly don't even know what rolling with the punches means or why one would do such a thing. Why would you roll with the punches and not fight violently against them? Sounds like something someone lazy made up. I mean, they're punches, people. And I'm just not sure that I know any other way to be aside from the person that worries about things being over before they've begun and misses people while they're still here.
I booked a plane ticket for vacation me and planned all kinds of soul-soothing activities for her. I even packed her yoga pants and a poncho. But it was the real me who showed up. Who invited her? What a buzzkill. Maybe the real me plays in NYC but the real me doesn't play so well in New Mexico. It's ... so ... quiet. How can I relax when all of the restaurants close at 9? Such pressure. We are going to starve to death out here and have to feast on each other's carcass - or the bags and bags of snacks I bought at Target, in addition to the snacks I sent FedEx ahead of time, you know, because they don't have stores in New Mexico. Wait, my cell phone doesn't work? How will I know how to feel without my daily horoscope email? What if I miss an important coupon from CVS? What if our hot air balloon operator has a heart attack and dies? Who's gonna land this thing? Why are there so many bugs? And dirt. We are definitely going to die on this road and never be found again - and by again, I mean, at least not until another car comes along in about 15 minutes. Of this I am certain.
And yet, somewhere in the quiet and the beauty and the worries about the quiet and the beauty - it's too quiet, it's too beautiful - I found myself. And I've decided I'm not sure I like me so much. I don't mean that in as harsh a way as it sounds. It's like the beautiful New Mexico landscape held up a big old mirror to my soul and my soul screamed back, "You talkin' to me?"
Well, I'm the only one here.
So maybe my spirit isn't all sunshine and happiness, or adobe and turquoise.
But, I'm not going to roll with the punches; I'll fight like hell.
There's still time to land this balloon.
And if not, maybe it's time for a little self-acceptance. I can always vacation somewhere more in line with my personality.
Like New York.
Or Afghanistan.
Wish you were here.
