Day 10: Taking the Suit Off

It's getting harder and harder to post something every day. I'm very raw and emotional and it takes a lot out of me to pen down my thoughts. Thinking them is tiresome enough; writing them down for the world to read is just another hill to climb. I even contemplated giving it a skip today, despite knowing that I have so much to say, and I don't want to give up. Well, here I am again.

So I'm finally going to address this topic I've been avoiding for a while: Guilt. It might take more than one post, but I'm keen to crack the surface.

All my life (up until the past couple of years) I was oblivious to the amount of guilt I've been carrying around. I used to pride myself on not having any regrets, despite the rollercoaster I've been riding since a very young age. I'd say to myself: all these events, people and choices have led me up to this point in my life, and have made me who I am today. And I like me, my life and so -- no regrets. This thought process worked for many years and even helped me boost my self-esteem when things got rough or I was fragile.

Like I said before, curveballs are one thing. Curve-bludgeons are quite another.

But before I go further into the topic of guilt, I need to address another topic, one that will make more clear why guilt has taken centerstage in my life right now.

About 8 years ago, I attended a forum run by Landmark Education. They're a global group that conduct motivational seminars around the world, helping you to find what it is you really want in life, and empowering you with tools to achieve that ideal life. It was pretty powerful and those workshops really did strengthen my resolve to live a more meaningful, wholesome and healed life. It mended a lot of strained relationships with my family at the time and made me feel stronger within myself.

One of the workshops focused on 'Strong Suits'. Strong suits are loosely defined as your strong points, something you excel at or can be noted for, which you use in different areas of your life.
For E.g., the session facilitator asked each of us to list 3 qualities that we thought would encapsulate us as individuals. Three words. Not stories or sentences. Just sum up yourself in three words.

Mine were: 'STRONG', 'INDEPENDENT', 'CREATIVE'. I think these summed me up quite well. My group members came up with their own. When we were done sharing our qualities with one another, our Session Facilitator told us these were our strong suits. We weren't BORN this way, but we had accumulated these skills or sharpened them along the way, to help us cope with life, in a way. We were all surprised and somewhat indignant at first. What did he mean, coping mechanism? Does that mean I'm faking it? That I'm pretending to be creative? That my talents aren't real?

He asked us to take some time to think about the first time we ever adopted any one of those qualities. An instance, an event, something someone said, anything -- it was most likely to have happened in the early years of our lives - somewhere up till the ago of 15 or 16 at best. We really had to dig deep.

And then the memories began to appear in front of me like little glowing bubbles.

STRONG:
I remember an evening in my grandparents' bedroom. I must have been no older than 4 or 5. I was fiddling with my grandmother's writing table and stationery, and out of nowhere my grandfather yelled at me for touching her things. I was so startled I ran out of the room and found a dark corner to cry in. I had never experienced such terror. And my grandfather was a very tall, big man with a booming voice. He could be quite a bully back in the day and everyone feared his temper. I can almost remember the explosion of adrenaline somewhere between my stomach and chest and the immediate impulse to run. That's not the last time I've been yelled at by a member of my family, or been punished for doing something I wasn't supposed to.

Another memory came flooding back: I was 12 years old, when I first registered that I was being touched inappropriately by a man. I had no one telling me what was right or wrong, and no one really knew what had happened at the time. It was something within me that set of an alarm that said, "No, this doesn't feel right. He shouldn't be touching me." And I froze with fear. It took me weeks to muster up the courage to make him back off (which he did). I remember feeling powerless, vulnerable, exposed, insignificant and ashamed for letting it happen and knowing no better. I even believed that I must have done something to deserve it. This is irrespective of the fact that he escaped punishment and I've had to coexist with him for longer than I would have desired. This wasn't the last time a man tried to touch me inappropriately.

I developed a temper at a young age. I began beating up boys and girls at school. I had angry outbursts as a teenager and attempted to 'destroy' people's hearts with my words. I self-harmed, stopped eating and was very destructive for about 2-3 years before I went to college. My rage was uncontrollable. And nobody understood why. In my 20s, I joined a martial arts group and for the first time I felt safe and understood. My rage was channeled into hardcore physical exertion and I became a calmer, but physically very strong woman. I no longer feared being attacked or reprimanded. Nobody could bully or misbehave with me. But I still had angry outbursts - only this time, my ego was my sword. My physical strength made me believe I was powerful enough to destroy people by lashing out at them. And I would. This destroyed me much more than the receiver of my wrath. I still struggled with destructive relationships, but since then have become stronger and wiser. Therapy helped. I became quieter, less aggressive and more contemplative. I made a vow this year never to lash out again in a moment of anger. To respond and not react (unless I'm being attacked, of course). Never to raise my voice again. And I haven't, so I'm quite proud of myself.

CREATIVE:
As a child, I'd always been a bit of a day dreamer. I loved to draw, paint, play music and look outside the window and make up stories. But I fared poorly in school: you know, the subjects that everyone should excel at in order to be a 'success'. I barely followed math. I loathed physics. I like chemistry because I got to mixed things and play with fire. I liked biology because I got to draw intricate diagrams of plants and insects. I wasn't physically fit and wasn't allowed to play inter-school sports because I'd have to wear shorts as part of the uniform. I didn't fit in with the popular kids. I wasn't a smart student, I wasn't an athlete, I wasn't a theater performer and I used to stammer when I was nervous. I was bullied a lot for 'being stupid', 'being fat', 'being ugly' (Yeah, I know, Assholes). But I excelled at Art, Music and Languages. I was one of the only two students who were allowed to remain in the school choirs (both Indian and Western Classical) right up till I graduated. I used to carry my own art kit to school everyday, and help students with their projects. I drew caricatures of my classmates and even the school's principal asked me to make one of him, which he proudly framed in his office. I became the reputed artist and musician. And it suited me just fine.

It was in high school and college that I discovered that I'm actually quite intelligent, when I excelled in all the other subjects as well and took part in several inter-collegiate competitions. And that I'm not ugly or fat, after all, when boys began to fall in love with me. But that didn't matter, because these things weren't my USP. My art was. My music was. So I took them up as hobbies And while I spent years as a magazine journalist, writer, editor and many other things, my heart finally pulled me back to where I was truly happy -- in my art and my music.

INDEPENDENT:

I realised very early in life that money makes the world go 'round. And that you cannot love on an empty stomach. Growing up in a joint unconventional family that had many members with an incomplete education created a lot of tension when it came to paying bills and taking responsibilities of running a household. There were egos, tempers, fights and humiliation. My parents decided it was time to move out, my brother and me in tow. I was 15, when the world I grew up, the universe I knew, was ripped apart and I was uprooted and taken to a different country to start a new life. Sure, new adventure, I told myself. But I lost my feeling of 'home'. That was the first of many moves, to the point that in my 20s I got used to the idea of living in one place for only 2 years, until it was time to move again. Money was a strain throughout, and it tore my family apart. I soon realised my freedom lay in my own income. I started working at the age of 19 and my father opened my first bank account for me (the best thing he ever did). Once I began to earn money, things changed. I didn't need permission for a lot of things. I didn't need to ask for an allowance. I didn't need to put up with the lectures of "we don't have enough money". Because I did. I didn't need anybody to fend for me or provide for me. I began to support myself, through trial and error. It made me feel safe, having money of my own. I moved out of my parents's house at 23 -- something that is culturally unheard of in my community, for an unmarried woman. It was hard, but the best thing I ever did.

I'm still moving around, but I know that no matter where I am I will always land on my feet and I will never go hungry or worry about where I'm going to sleep for the night. Sometimes it makes me detach from a place or people very quickly. Sometimes, it's necessary, but when it isn't, I do feel bad.

When I understood these strong suits, I realised that they were an armour I built around my skin to protect myself. To protect that child who had suffered different traumas at a young age. I began to pride myself on having them. I began to identify myself as these qualities. I forgot about my fragility, my humanity and my innocence. I became hard and impenetrable. I was friendly and extroverted but few people could gain access to the vulnerable me. It took me a while to remember that the little child is still in there somewhere. And that I didn't have to let go or undo the armour to find her. My travels around the world, interactions with people -- other seekers like me -- have helped me to understand this.


This brings me to now.

Things had set in motion around late last year, when some incidents triggered a snowball effect in my introspective journey. A lot of repressed trauma and memories came to the forefront. I had been going to therapy regularly and I began to acknowledge their presence. This hit me quite hard and threw me off balance. Added to this were significant life changes, geographical shifts and relationship turbulence. While I feel broken, damaged, scared, fragile and unbelievably terrified of letting people see me, I also am glad I am facing everything, with the help of a therapist and a loving family and supportive friends. I think that's just good grace I've earned over time and I'm grateful.

But with this crashing down of my armour - the strong, independent, creative woman who doesn't need anybody to take care of her, who always finds a solution to any problem, who can survive anything - has added a considerable amount of shame and guilt on my shoulders. So I'm going to state everything I feel guilty about and hope that in this declaration, it's out in the open and can finally leave me:

I feel guilty because I cannot carry myself physically forward.

I feel guilty for not having the wisdom, strength or tools to protect myself as a child.

I feel guilty for not having the courage to say 'no', when I wanted to.

I feel guilty for the rage I have felt against my family for not protecting or guiding me when I needed it most.

I feel guilty because I couldn't make my last relationship survive the tough times.

I feel guilty because I'm relying on my parents to support and love me and hold me up when I can't stand.

I feel guilty because I feel that I should be doing this for them.

I feel guilty when my mother hugs me even when she has a backache.

I feel guilty when I cannot let my father see me cry or when I'm vulnerable.

I feel guilty when I have an anxiety attack and my body shrivels up and contorts and I cannot breathe, and I cannot snap out of it right away.

I feel guilty when I cannot meet my friends and tell them how my life is going.

I feel guilty that I do not want to be seen, even when everyone is worried about me.

I feel guilty I cannot be there for my siblings when they are struggling with their own problems.

I feel guilty that I cannot change or improve my situation today, this minute, right here, right now.

I feel guilty that I couldn't control my emotions when I wanted to.

I feel guilty because I lack patience, and it takes patience to acquire patience over a period of time.

I feel guilty that I put my body through so much stress, anxiety and worry for the past year, that when it gave up on me, I was frustrated with myself. (I'm really sorry about that, Tulsi. I promise to make it up to you.)

I feel guilty that I am spending my life savings on more education, living in a country I'll have to struggle to belong in, rather than saving for a secure future (if that even means anything, really).

I feel guilty for allowing myself to believe in promises of love, when deep down I knew it was a long shot when the man just lies to himself, so how could he even know I was The One?

I feel guilty for not being strong enough to support the man I loved, when he was being inauthentic with himself and wanted to be validated, and stood up for the truth instead (I will get over this one quickly, I assure you).

I feel guilty for not being able to be mentally and emotionally stable enough to face my family and friends, to smile and laugh, to feel normal and live a healthy, active life just yet. I'm afraid they will lose patience with me.

I feel guilty when I can't go up and down stairs because my erstwhile strong legs are in so much pain, and my mother has to bring me dinner.

I feel guilty that I cannot find an innovative way to end suffering in the world, that I cannot heal everybody, that I cannot save everyone.

I feel guilty now that I have realised I'm not a superhuman.
(But I've also come to realise that being human in itself is a very powerful thing -- which very few people recognize and practice in their lifetimes)



I'm blanking out. That probably means my List of Guilt is ending. If I remember more, I'll vent them in the next post.

I don't know if my guilt stems from the possibility that my strong suits failed me. Or from the likelihood that I don't need them anymore but am not sure the world will accept me as me. But then I imagine a world that doesn't accept me as I am, isn't the world I'm meant to live in. Is it then the guilt of wanting to shed the suits and still be considered those things in my own head? Is that even possible? Not sure yet.


I spent most of today in bed, deep in thought. I didn't do much else. So I want to end this post with a positive thought I read online.

"We can all practice beginning anew. 

We can always start over."- Thich Nhat Hanh

Day 6: Kiri-kiri

Today was a very busy and eventful day. And I was looking forward to writing about it tonight. But after a long time, I had a massive breakdown in my bedroom. 

I couldn't hold it in any longer, and screamed and sobbed my heart out into a pillow, while my mother sat next to me. All the anger, hurt, frustration, fear, sadness and pain just tumbled out without warning. It felt like the earth was shaking beneath me, and I was caught in a hurricane. All the feelings I was trying to distract myself from, suppress or rationalise in the hope of being a 'better human being', just raced out of my throat and into the universe. It was a cry from so deep within me, what came out felt like it made straight for the core of the earth, if you can imagine it. My mother let me vent. She believes it's better to let it out than keep it inside. I sobbed for every ache in my body, my heart and my soul. I cried like a child and begged my mother to never leave me, never die on me, never stop loving me (all the things a child is afraid of). In those 15 minutes, I became a 4 year old and she held me so tight, I felt like I was glued to her. It was the most secure feeling I have felt in a very long time. 

When I calmed down, I lay my head in her lap and sniffled. She ran her fingers gently up and down my back. This is something she used to do to me and my brother when we were kids. It's strangely soothing and relaxing and even though I'm easily tickled, this makes me feel light and sleepy. She calls it, 'kiri-kiri'. I feel blank now. 

So tonight, I've composed a tune on the ukulele I bought earlier today. It's the music that plays in my head when my mother runs her fingers up and down my back. My first time on a ukelele. Happy notes. Just what I need. Let's see if I can build on this tune over the next couple of days.

Kiri-kiri

Day 5 - Gettin' my hands dirty

I signed up for a clay modeling workshop at Carpe Diem, Majorda. It goes on for 5 turns and each turn is 2 hours of learning how to work with clay of different types, understanding techniques and glazing and firing my own clay masterpieces!

I'm always ready for any artistic activity that gets my hands dirty. Today, we worked with terracotta. It's not very different from regular (gray) clay, and is more budget-friendly. Our instructor, Ramdas, made all the kneading and fixing look so effortless, we were in for a surprise when he assigned us our own lumps of clay to prepare for modelling. There is an entire process that precedes the actual modeling part, which I didn't know about. Pretty interesting how even the smallest air bubble in a lump of clay could cause your clay model to explode inside the kiln. Pretty dramatic, how he described it, too. 

Our technique for the day was 'pinching'. We each had a round lump of clay to hollow out by pinching evenly at the sides. Once we hollowed it out into even pieces, we joined two halves back together to make a hollow circle. After smoothening it, we were ready to design our masterpieces.

I decided to make a baby owl, which I would use as a tea-light or baby candle lamp. It was quite an intricate process but I was too enamoured by all the tools, the unlimited clay, and the endorphins soaring through my body. My mother also participated and was making her Frida Kahlo Pig curio.

There was a third lady, who as soon as she joined the class began to whine about how she would have to cut her nails to continue the class, and how she didn't want to hollow the clay, or make simple animal designs. She was adamant in making a traditional diya (lamp) with atypical patterns. When she saw what my mother and I were making, she whined that she wanted to do what we were doing. She just wasn't satisfied. She kept eyeing my mother's clay model and at one point I was worried that she would walk over and just shove my mom's work off the table to sabotage it. There's always ONE diva in every class I've attended. It's inevitable. I felt sorry for her. She wasn't able to expand her mind beyond what is 'safe' and 'pretty'. We are so enslaved by our fear of failure or 'ugliness' that people can spend an entire life not taking a risk. Ugly isn't bad. Neither is failure. Like Ramdas said, "If you mess it up, just start over with another one." Simple.

Ramdas and the owner of the workshop, Daegal, were very happy with our progress and kept taking photos. I loved the entire property itself, which is an art gallery cum coffee shop cum gig venue cum workshop space. I love the name -- "Carpe Diem". I am so excited to go back for the remaining sessions. 

My father was the official photographer of the evening, and while he didn't want to get his hands dirty, he kept himself occupied by documenting our entire workshop with his camera. 

I appreciate how patient he was, while mum and I worked on our pieces. 

 

For dinner, we went to Da Tita, an Italian restaurant in Majorda, which is known for its clay-oven pizzas and authentic Italian cuisine. I have never eaten more delicious pizza, greens or pesto bruschettas anywhere outside of Italy. The parma ham and pepperoni pizza was delectable. Not to mention the panacotta and tiramisu for dessert. The owner of this restaurant is an old Italian chef, who trained a local chef to cook authentic Italian fare. He even flew her down to Italy several times to experience the tastes and flavors of local Italian cuisine. I could almost smell the olive trees and rosemary bushes in Sorrento and the cheese factory in Meta. The parma ham reminded me of Prosciutto e Melone.

I had woken up today with disturbing thoughts, tears-inducing pain in my abdomen and a general sadness that I've almost gotten used to by now. But I knew that things would be better as the day panned out. I've begun to believe that despite hardships, I can have a good day, create something beautiful, meet new people and share stories, and be loved. Knowing this gives me more strength to cope with pain.

Today was a very fulfilling day. I am excited and motivated to create more art. (Secretly hoping Daegal, the owner, likes my artwork and decides to display or sell it at his gallery).

Amen.

(To know more about Carpe Diem and their various workshops through the year, visit their website: http://www.carpediemgoa.com/ . There are some incredible pieces of art there, not to mention delicious coffee and friendly dogs)

Day 4 - The Driver's Seat

A woman's hormones are like a cat. Temperamental. Choosy. Will only play along if you pamper them and succumb to their every whim and wish. And even then, they might blow you off. Just because they don't feel like coming out to play. If you anger them, they will lash out in the worst way possible. Meowr! (I must add here that I think cats are very lovable creatures.)

I missed my period this month. No, I'm not pregnant. No, I don't have any disorder. They just haven't come yet. A major cause is stress. I've learnt this year (as if I didn't have any signals before, that I should have paid better attention to) that stress can screw up your body more than a car shredder can deface your car. I have had regular periods for pretty long, with only a couple of misses that I remember, once a decade, either due to under-eating or over-exercise. I have a Period App on my phone that logs my period cycle and reminds me when my next period is expected. It's very handy. I can even log in what pills I've taken, when I had sex and how I'm feeling emotionally.

My last three periods have been during very stressful times. I had to move houses twice, hauling tonnes of heavy luggage, with a bit of help, up and down flights of stairs. My last period was me running to catch a 22-hour flight from New York to India. This time around, my boyfriend and I broke up a few days before my period was due. I can safely say my ovaries have been sufficiently traumatized. 

This makes me sad. My body is tired and in pain and the medication I'm on is doing its best to get me back on track, but I feel weak, powerless, guilty and frustrated. So much that I find it hard sometimes to get up and sit down, or go up and down a flight of stairs. Of course, it hasn't stopped me, but I do take extra care not to push myself or fling my body around in over-enthusiasm. 

I really thought I'd get my period today. I've been cramping for weeks now, and my legs felt heavier. Let's put aside the moodiness because that's an everyday given. I'm still hopeful it'll come soon. But I have dark moments when I wonder what if they never will? I'm trying not to stay in that dark zone for very long.

Happy observation of the day: I've begun to look forward to the second half of the day. So far, every morning, I've been depressed, sluggish and brain dead. By the time I make my way downstairs for breakfast, I see my mom puttering about her plants and fixing me my morning mug of hot water and some fruits. She enthusiastically suggests activities we could do after breakfast, but I have no energy to do any at all. I am learning to forgive myself for lacking energy. By lunchtime, I gain some strength but am mentally still quite low. Mum goes up for her afternoon siesta and so do I. Normally I would never sleep in the afternoon, but for the past two days, I have enjoyed an hour of deep sleep. Once I wake up, I feel rested. When I go down, I'm raring for some activity. It's this second half of the day, when things begin to happen. And so they did, today.

I finally got to paint. My mom fixed me up with her stash of oil paints, some brushes and palette knives (my weapon of choice), turpentine and linseed oil, and a variety of canvases to choose from. I created a nook for myself under the stairs, where the books and my grandfather's old LPs are stored. It's cosy and private. I had a basic idea and just went for it. It was fun and illuminating. I enjoy painting because I never know how it's going to look in the end. By the end of the day, I was pretty happy with what I made. But I might tweak it tomorrow. 

We then decided to drive out to buy groceries. I haven't driven a car in 2 years, having lived in the US without a driver's license. But it didn't take much for me to get back into the driver's seat. And once I was in it, I just didn't want to stop driving. So we went to the vegatable market, fruit market and a plant nursery. We decided to drive to Johncy's for dinner at the beach. It was pouring and it was high tide. The sea was magnificent, with furious waves lashing at the shore and gusty winds sprinkling sea water on our faces. I could stare at the sea in the rain forever. It's peaceful and comforting, in any avatar. My mother and I walked along the shoreline after a delicious meal and gave thanks to the sea and the sand, for the peace we felt.

I wasn't ready to go home just yet. So we went on a long drive through the empty, dark roads of Goa at night. It was freeing. Mom went crazy taking pictures. Goa at night is just as gorgeous as day. I could have driven all night, all the way to the southernmost tip of Goa, if I could. But I made it to Cavellosim, and that was enough for the first day. 

Being able to drive a car, steadily on Indian roads (with Indian drivers and traffic), tells me I'm pretty stable and calm. It's reassuring. Even if I don't have control over my hormones, I have control of my driving skills and how I react to crazy drivers. This is a powerful feeling - being in the driver's seat (literally and metaphorically). I see myself driving out a lot more.

Looking forward to the second half of tomorrow. :)

Day 3 - Night

10:06pm

Papaya Seeds

Vanilla beans from
home-grown pods

Ate pizza for dinner. Immediately regretted it. Turns out cheese, flour and processed meat aren't the best food to eat when you've been on a healthy diet for very long. There's delivered fast-food pizza and then there's clay-oven-fired Italian pizzas. We need to be reminded of the difference every now and then.

The evening wasn't as dismal as the first half of the day. I went into my mother's garden and helped her plant seeds and trim her ferns. It is truly a magical place, especially because my mother loves gardening and always has oodles of information about any plant I would point to. This is her happy place, and it was a glowing green. Plants make me happy too. They're welcoming and lush. And I can get lost in them.

Maidenhair Fern
(Mum's favorite fern)

Afternoon stroll

Don't watch the film, Young Adult on Netflix. Although Charlize Theron performed well, the film was dark and depressing and non-conclusive. Definitely not what I was looking for. But I had to watch the whole thing because I expected something big to happen halfway through it. It didn't.


Three things I feel good about today:
1. I went up to 50 mid-air squats.
2. The 'Peeno Noir' song in The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt (Season 1, I forget which episode).
3. Nature always accepts me with arms wide open.

Made it through today. Achievement unlocked.

Day 2: Just keep swim-ming

"Fear of loneliness is a powerful thing", said Kelsey Grammar as Harry Hamilton in the film, Like Father.  I saw it this afternoon on Netflix and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It was cathartic, emotional, funny, real and ironic: everything that makes it a good film for me.

I believe that at any given point of time, people operate from either one of two things: love and fear. Think about it. Why did I keep going back to my boyfriend? Why did my parents shout at me as a child? Why do I fight with people close to me? Why do we put that extra effort into creating something for someone or even ourselves? Is it out of love or out of fear? Chances are, for every one of those questions, at different times in our lives, the answer could be love and fear. This made me go back and (hesitantly) think about what went wrong, what was right, and what couldn't be fixed. I couldn't go too deep into it, because the wound is fresh. But I'm opening up to the possibility that not everything we said or did was out of fear. And not every promise or plan we made was out of love. Which was which and when? I don't know. I don't know if I'm ready to face that yet. Maybe later.

Today was Spa Day. I put on a mud pack on my face (Multani mitti/clay in case you're wondering). I filled a small tub with epsom salt and hot water. And I soaked my feet in it, while my face got crackly and cool with the clay. This, while watching Like Father on Netflix. My mother, ever-ready for a spa day, joined me. We broke for lunch, which was THE most delicious coconut fish curry I've tasted in Goa, made by my father. I, then, experimented with the mango topping on my lemon bars. Not too shabby! The flavour of the lemon bars is a bit over powering so you want to check the ratio of lemon bar to mango slices based on your preference. But a really yummy combination! *Pat on back*

It's been cloudy today, with intermittent rain. Every few moments, I'll hear a gentle rush of raindrops outside my balcony, with a gush of wind entering my room. No city noise, no honking cars or shouting people, no pollution, no blaring radio on the sidewalk. Just the sound of rain, some birds, the jazz radio my mom's listening to downstairs while she has tea, and way in the background: the distant roar of the sea.

Every few moments, his face pops up in my head and I feel a pang so potent I want to split in half. I'll never see that face the way he looked at me again. He'll never smile for me again. I'll never get to bury my nose in his chest and melt into his warmth. Then I remember all the things I didn't like about him, and how I tried to move past them, but eventually couldn't. I'm left with a mixture of emotions: guilt, shame, disappointment, sadness, hurt, anger, resentment but also clarity on the fact that this was our last try and it's done.

I went up to the terrace, thinking I'd paint something, but I saw the pool outside our house: blue, empty, untouched, undisturbed, with light ripples made by the breeze. I had to be a part of it. So I went for a swim. I was pretty impressed with my enthusiasm. As I was getting ready to go in, I had a barrage of doubts: Am I fit enough? Will it be cold? Oh, I'm not ready to do this. Maybe I should wait another day before I get out and about, I'm too depressed. Oh, but the water doesn't seem too cold, it's pretty lukewarm; just right. Well, I'm already in halfway, might as well go all the way in.

Once I was in, there were no thoughts. My body knew what to do. And I swam. It was liberating. Reassuring. Effortless. Brilliant. All the things I feel when I make music, or when I excel at something. I always remember the feeling I get when I swim. Exhileration. Freedom. Strength. Infinity. Solitude. Peace. What I was born to do. I meditated as I glided underwater, remembering the space within me is just as infinite as the water I'm swimming in. The silence around me silenced the chatter inside me. My tired and sore body felt activated. I floated on the surface of the pool, feeling weightless. The hot shower after my swim was the best I've had in days.



I hope to do this more often. I hope I have the courage to move a step forward every day, however small. I hope to remember that I don't have to freeze when something bad happens. That I can wiggle my toes to start with and make my way up.

I hope.