Saturday night I prayed. Well, I wouldn’t call it prayer, because I’m spiritual not religious. I just talked.
I talked a lot and yes, I cried a little bit, because during my meditation I felt the most intense feeling of being whole. Happy. My life lately has been insanely busy and chaotic and I felt as if I had hit rock bottom. I was scared of leaving my full time job, but I’m a creative person stuck in a dead-end. I needed to leave. I have wanted to start my own business for a long time, but I was scared. Although I have gone to four days a week at my day job, I am not making what I made before. I’m struggling to stay afloat. I have stayed single most of my adult life because I’m scared of losing my independence, my freedom. But that freedom and independence also has a cost: loneliness. I hate being lonely and I hate being wrong, but most of the time I am both. I’ve been stretching myself as thin as my retina that had detached a few years ago, causing a bit of chaos in my life then, too. I have been tired of everything. I was tired of working. I was tired of seeing all my high school friends getting engaged or married or having kids. I was just tired of being lonely. I felt empty, as if I had nothing left to offer the world.
So I did what I do best: I talked aloud. And I meditated, palms up. And a strange thing happened by the end of my meditation: I felt whole. None of that stuff above seemed to bother me anymore. At all.
I have been spending the last ten years looking for that wholeness. I know that it’s something I have to work at all the time, but I felt it. And I don’t want to lose it.
I talked more. I didn’t stop talking. I let everything I’d been feeling out. I put it on the table. And soon I felt as if something or one was pressing me down into my mattress. I felt pressure on my shoulders, on my legs, my arms. I felt so completely “pressurized” that I could have been floating in the air. I was there, present in the moment, but I wasn’t there. It was an entirely elating experience. In the middle of my meditation I felt as if someone was holding my hand—pressure in my left hand. Intense, heavy… but also, light, good. By the end of my meditation I was asking the Universe for help.
“I need help. I need help.” I kept saying this over and over because I wasn’t sure what I needed help with… or how to voice what I needed. “I need help.”
With my love life? Yes.
My professional life? Yes.
My life in general? Yes.
“I just. Need. Help.” But mostly I wanted to feel inspired again. I needed to feel wanted and useful and interesting. For most of my life I felt as if I was just floating from one thing to the next, never concentrating or applying myself fully—I like to think of myself as a Jack of all Trades, master at none.
I went to sleep at peace, puffy-eyed, but at peace. Content just knowing that I got off my chest all the emotional stuff I had been, for years, internalizing. I awoke around eight Sunday morning, at peace. My world was no different. The earth hadn’t shifted. The heavens hadn’t parted. My room hadn’t magically tidied itself (wishful thinking!). I know there will be days ahead where I have no peace, days where I’ll cry, or be heart-broken, but right now, in the moment, I’m whole.
I also received an answer from the Universe. I had, after all, begged for help. And I got it. In the form of two very different facebook messages. The Universe responds with people, not answered prayers—I’ve learned that recently. The Universe works through people.
I had the sweetest facebook message this morning. Two actually—both from high school classmates I haven’t seen in over ten years. The first was from a friend who wants record his story, his life, his grandfather’s. A memoir. The second from one of the kindest, most beautiful souls I’ve ever met. I haven’t seen her since graduation, haven’t really connected in almost ten years. And then out of the blue, an email?! (Pardon my double punctuation.) In it: “Next time you are in town, can you please let me know? I’d really like to meet up and talk about life. You’re such an awesome person and are doing so many exciting things…it would be nice to hear about your life.” I asked. The Universe answered.
The first email I spent more time responding to… Someone wants to share their story. I can help. I can help them do that. I love writing. I love editing. I love helping people. Perfect!
I write back to him, telling him just that. But I also tell him to write. Just get black on white. It doesn’t have to be good it just has to be on the paper. I tell him to write everything he remembers. Details, I say, details make readers care. I tell him to describe places, smells. Sounds. I am a sound girl. I can tell more about a person through sound than seeing. For example, the guy at work, I can hear his laugh through the garage wall and know whether his laugh is from a joke by the radio DJ or from a text message.
I love voices. I’m definitely a voice girl when it comes to men. I hate to say it, but if I don’t like the sound of your voice, I won’t date you—doesn’t mean I won’t be friends with you. Honest. Truth. And no, I don’t apologize for it.
Sound to me is equal with texture. Sound has texture. I love the high-pitched “zipping” sound that sand makes under my feet, the way that zipping feels against my heels and toes as I walk through it—don’t believe me? Next time you walk through the sand, listen and feel.
Sound has texture. To me snow has a sound. You might not hear it, but it does and it also has texture. Water has a sound and texture. Hair has a texture and sound. When I paint, I use palette knives because they make beautiful clatter against the texture of my canvas. Sound and texture. Texture and sound. I can’t work without either.
To me, sound is another language, one I don’t think I’ll ever fully master. And that’s okay with me.