Uncertainty and Distractions

There are two toes on my foot that slightly rub together and I am still unaware as to whether this is a full day event or if it only happens during the minute before I’m meant to sink just that tiny bit heavier into bed and fall asleep.
 
This is a weird way to start these daily September letters, of that I am aware, however, I couldn’t help but sharing (and testing your loyalty) when the thought came along because,
 
I’ve walked through the prettiest streets here in the Netherlands. They are narrow with pebbled roads and I’ve walked through many of these not only by mistake but also completely alone and it seems almost selfish and indulgent.
Bright, red flowers decorate each windowsill, church bells start ringing, one, two, three, and in the distance, I can hear bikes going over the bumpy streets with baskets filled with fresh bread and more flowers and it’s a specific, metallic sound that I’ve grown to love.

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There is a sort of elegance here, an elegance I didn’t experience growing up in Costa Rica,
 
But still,
 
I want to tell you about my toes,
And the slight rubbing,
And this being as uncomfortable for me, the victim, and possibly you, the reader.
 
You see,
 
I noticed this many years ago and I couldn’t quite explain the feeling because it was, well, almost not even a feeling,
 
It was simply the presence of my body,
And the presence of an unsettled mind.
 
I go to bed, lay flat on my back the way I was taught in India, rest my hands on my chest like a dead person which is the way I wasn’t taught in India and close my eyes and there it is.
 
I like to have this vision of myself, a very bright vision and I’m never quite sure if this is helping me build myself or if it’s dismantling me in the most passive of ways, which is almost always the most dangerous of ways because you never see it coming until.
 
Yesterday I sat on my ass for what felt like days, and with the bright future in the corner of my mind I ignored the many e-mails I’ve been meaning to reply to and sat, paralyzed in the cutest coffee shop you’ve ever seen, with baskets of free apples, and my ass hurts and I find it incredibly bizarre that I’m here because I made myself come here,
 
That I’m here because I planned this trip, quite badly if I’m honest because it was probably the most spontaneous and erratic thing I’ve ever done and I always thought of these things only happening in movies,
 
But irresponsibility happens daily and it’s a very real thing, and it’s also a scale and I’m constantly asking myself on what end of the scale I’m on,
 
And to be wondering that means I must be terrified,
And to be thinking of this as irresponsible must mean I’m conflicted,
 
And the thing about my toes rubbing is that every time I’m aware of it happening I can pinpoint all the things I’ve picked up and all the things that I have very passively let go.
 
It keeps me from falling asleep, so, I then venture into more thoughts and I create short and concise versions of the same story, and some of them I’m proud of and I promise myself to write them as soon as I wake up the next morning because if I turn the lights on I might never ever fall asleep and I do end up falling asleep eventually, but also, I end up never writing any of the detailed stories that I know would make this friend of mine quite happy for me and my creative endeavors.
 
I’ve trained myself to celebrate the small things but always with one eye open because you can’t trust when that self-sabotage is going to pop up,
Or
When your mind is going to latch on to something so tangible and physically normal that it stops you from falling asleep and forces you into realizing something must be truly off.
 
One time I noticed the feeling of my tongue in my mouth and I cursed myself because being inquisitive can also be coming to terms with the simplicity of life and how devoid of explanation it can be and that’s very hard to write about,
 
It’s also very hard to write when you’re noticing every feeling, every rubbing thing, every movement, every pressing, how sometimes I’m aware of the lack of space for my tongue in my mouth,
 
Some of us need a long period of silence in between sentences to feel settled,
Some of us need to feel enclosed to realize the complexities of getting enclosed in the first place,
 
Meaning,
I got myself here
 
Meaning,
I can get myself out.
 
Here is a short sentence with some of the things I’ve passively let go of:
My meditation, my time to journal, my morning tea ritual, my desire for healthy food, healthy food, my certainty, my direction, some people
 
Less passively:
Two shirts, one jumper, one book because they didn’t fit in my carry on.
 
My point is, I don’t want to screw myself over right now because of the potential of a brighter future cozily sitting in that corner of my mind.
I want to turn the light on in the middle of the night and write the damn thing down and maybe then the feeling of a body on a bed will dissipate and I can fall asleep and the bright, bright future of tomorrow is still just me, but me with a story to work on rather than me without.
 
And that is something to celebrate,
And maybe one day I can do so with two eyes closed.
 
The rubbing or the itching or the weird constant thought isn’t random I don’t think. It’s a little doorway opening to the many more strange feelings to explore and the many more questions to ask and so I get to work,
 
I create,
Because there’s always room for new answers,
And someone has to put a rest to all the distractions.

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WritingNina MontagneComment