One is the Strongest Number
We all have our own ways of dealing with the things that happen in our life - be they good, bad or confounding. Some people write it out, some people bury it deep and never talk about it, and others, like myself, understand the world and the things that happen around us by talking it out.
And here, I’ve gotta say, I am unbelievably blessed with the multitude of absolutely amazing ears and shoulders that I have at my disposal. I’ve never been in a situation where I don’t have someone - or several someones - to go to when I feel like throwing up about all of life’s dramas and/or the random things I notice when I look around. The best part is that they are all so different and that means they bring various perspectives and respond differently to situations so that I have the luxury of going to certain people who I know will be the right fit for the brain dump I’m about to perform - and the right fit is crucial. It’s a good feeling.
And perhaps, because I’ve always had a good friend near by to talk to, I’ve never really had to sit with my thoughts on my own. And why would I? It’s always more fun when you can share it.
But today, for the first time in as long as I can remember - maybe ever - I realized that while I could pick up the phone/knock on the door/instant message someone, I didn’t. I don’t even want to because I feel like there isn’t anyone I know - besides me - that could possibly be the right fit for any talking-out that I suddenly maybe don’t even want to engage in. Maybe it’s because I can’t seem to even articulate the thoughts in my head out loud yet - as a function, perhaps, of realizing I don’t need to be able to articulate them to validate them. I can simply just feel and know and that’s enough for them to be real - it’s way more intuitive of a place than I’m used to being with myself.
It’s not a bad thing at all - in fact it’s actually a really cool feeling. As a writer, words are my currency, and as an extrovert, talking is like breathing for me. I can’t imagine a life without my words to comfort and assure me that my life makes sense. And yet, suddenly, I can understand what it means to live outside that world…and inside my own.
Does anyone remember having to write essays by hand? Like in middle school or early high school, before computers were as pervasive as they are now? I remember not being able to physically write a coherent essay or paper unless I used my pen and paper to write the WHOLE THING out first, only then I could type it on the computer. I couldn’t fathom actually creating a piece of writing on the machine alone - the paper and pen were my crutch.
And then suddenly (or maybe it was a process) - I realized how silly it was to write it all out by hand and how much more intuitive using a computer was, how amazing it was that the speed of my typing could keep up with my thoughts…or that I could actually allow myself to think that fast since my fingers could keep up. Thinking something was as good as writing it up - they became simulatenous functions.
That’s exactly where I’m at. Suddenly, the experience doesn’t need words/paper and pen to be real. I can know and acknowledge and feel a situation without actually expressing it out loud. And I realize that in simply writing it here to acknowledge this feeling of not needing words is kind of paradoxical. I didn’t say I’d outgrown words entirely - I hope that never happens, as I love words very much - but I’ve simply been able to experience a feeling, an occasion without needing those words to breathe reality and life into it because - surprise - it’s already alive.
I like it. I also like that I am mentally and emotionally strong enough to be my own ears and shoulders. And, despite my astonishing safety net of supportive friends, I find even greater comfort knowing that I am my own best friend.
