a rant about roots

thoughts on birthdays,regret,my dad's death, presence, purpose and other existential life crisis type of vibes!

*cover photo by Christian Amann on Unsplash*

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Why do approaching birthdays often catalyze intense contemplation for me? Admittedly, I rarely feel satisfied with where I am in my life, which seems odd considering what I've been able to accomplish and experience. However, a not-so-deep-down part of me realizes I'm unhappy. With the world in disarray and no fix in sight, everything feels urgent, like if there's ever anything I've wanted to do, I may as well do it now. I can already feel the regret starting to bubble up.

As I've been exploring my relationship with death, there's a certain level of irony around the fact that my fixation with dying hasn't translated into how I live. Instead of allowing it to inspire me, I feel overwhelmed by what I haven't done, which sometimes feels like everything. It often feels like I'm running out of time, and instead of springing into action, it paralyzes me. How am I already at the point of having my life flash before my eyes when I'm still very much alive? Maybe it's because I grew so acquainted with survival being the same as living when it's anything but that.

There's a level of vulnerability when it comes to following your dreams. It takes an unspeakable amount of grit to go after what you want when others can't even begin to conceive or make sense of your vision. That's been a problem for me; sometimes, I need others to confirm what I see to convince me it is worth going after. I can't tell you how often I've sought other people's opinions, allowing them to override what I already knew to be true for myself. Worst than all this is when I struggle to see my vision as more than a mere mirage.

There's something so intimate about allowing your dreams to spill from your lips into another's ears. My homegirl and I were fresh in a conversation, a conjuring of sorts, speaking aloud the life we'd wish to live if, well, you know, life wasn't in the way.

"You don't have to be perfect to be in your gift. You just have to be present." she said, her words loving, but assertive. I scarfed down another bite of the spiced chocolate chip cookie before hastily pulling my phone out to capture the knowledge she was dropping on me. I keep going back to her words because I'm trying to

build a new muscle
mood
mindset
and moment where I'm in real alignment with myself

And if you, like myself, sometimes feel like a little broken thing, you understand that the pieces rarely feel like they fit.

There's a new project I'm working on, and I'm in that weird phase where I'm just completely ignoring the fact that it exists. I know this is just me self-sabotaging, as it is a habit. I feel like my therapy catchphrase has become "people don't tell you about this part of adulthood" because all this shit is just hard. Giving yourself space to dream is hard when the world is spinning off its axis. It's hard to keep your balance when everything can feel so impossible. But still, we try to push on anyway.

E i g h t e e n. The number of years [s t r e t c h e d] between the age I am today and the age my dad was when he died. I try not to think about him, but I do. It's hard not to think about where you're from and, more importantly, who you're from. This "fact" feels weird and sad. But I think it's a contributor to some of my anxiety. The anxiety of getting older. The way doctors look at me when they ask about my family's health history, and I tell them I have a dead dad. Stroke. 51. Yeah, I know, so young.They awkwardly look away, and I just look at the ground. How could this not be manifesting as some anxiety?

I can't help but wonder if my daddy had the "what am I doing with my life?" moments and constantly pushed it to the side, confident that he had more time. I'm sure he had no clue his life would dwindle from him at such a rapid rate. I think about the regret of being on our deathbeds and thinking about the way we've sacrificed the life we wanted for one that barely felt comfortable, let alone enjoyable.How ironic that we can't be present in our dying moments because things have flipped, and now we’re holding onto the past for dear life.

I believe my dad was 27 when he lost his mom. The same age I was when I lost him. This one similarity has allowed me to have a great deal of compassion for him. Grief flips a switch, or maybe it flicks a flame—searing everything it touches, like a raging fire unable to be restrained. I think his grief manifested in anger, probably some resentment, and a grab bag of emotions that he’d wield whenever he pleased.

As a child and even adult, I'd never stopped to consider how losing his mom and, later on, his father had come to shape him.

how it felt to be
a branch suspended in air
with
no roots to ground you

but because an axe sliced into the roots of my being
specfically my daddy’s side

i get it
i get the feeling
i get the feeling of

being

less tethered
to the world
to this moment
to just be floating

i get it. i do

i wonder did he ever think about that?
how to survive in a world with no roots?
not even gravity able to hold you.
i wonder did he ever get that feeling?

I've been binging Six Feet Under, and honestly, I'm a little sad to be wrapping up my time with the fictional Fisher Family, owners of Fisher & Sons Funeral home, while faced with their own sudden onslaught of grief. Even though it's a show about death, many moments highlight its clear and ever-present relationship with life. There was a line from some season, I don't recall which one, where I jotted down this line from the show, "the future is just a concept that we use to avoid being alive today. So, be here now." We talk about the future as if we know what the future actually is, other than some moment outside of this present one. It is easy to become fixated on something that doesn't yet exist. As someone who can be so consumed with the future but in a doomsday sort of vibe, it can be hard to be in the moment. I'm always projecting myself into some future, completely missing the only chance to be here—now.

Life and death meet at the same busy intersection, sometimes colliding, other times barely missing one another, and every now and then perfectly co-existing, going with the flow.

If there's something I'd wish for in this new year or, better yet, in each new moment, it's more presence. To exist in the awareness between life and death that pushes me to a place of presence and not apathy. I wish to be more present with my dreams, likes, icks, voice, heart, body. Myself. I want to be more present for myself. In myself. I can feel very disconnected from myself, so this idea is a bit daunting, but it's possible. But it also takes time, and instead of lamenting how far I have to go or how little I have left, I can just be. Because what is the future if not an escape from today?

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