I've always had an innate ability to approach life with diplomacy, because I am internally split. I can not approach anything - not poverty, not schedules, not lunch - without seeing both sides and all their arguments. Decisions might take me awhile, but at least you can be assured that I've thought about them, a lot. Though this causes some conflict, it also keeps life interesting to be, as I am, a dichotemy of polar opposites. So far, each heart-space has voiced itself equally, and asserted itself when needed. When I need to run through a calendar, my brighter half picks up pace; when I need to rest, my soul's night keeps me quiet. But there's been this thing happening of late. It seems the happy shadow'd half has become a brood of fear and apathy, and is becoming the stronger arm in a match I haven't won yet.
|screen shot: Emmylou, by First Aid Kit|
I've been listening non-stop to Emmylou, by First Aid Kit. It's a song that crept up slowly, and then without warning, became my favorite, and now I can't stop listening. There's a line at the beginning: "Stockholm's cold, but I've been told I was born to endure this kind of weather." Every time I hear it, something resonates. There's a tension in the line I can relate to. I live here, I was born for this, but it's cold. The dichotemy here, for me, is that I have grown comfortable with the very state I can't get out of, like my very own (much dumbed-down) version of Stockholm syndrome. The odd thing is, I am my own captor.
In less foggy terms: I have begun to question my ability to tell stories, or my reason for wanting to tell them. Much of my blog the past 3 years has been the same thing over and over again: even this post will feel familiar, for those who've read their way along. My personal writing projects have remained as stagnant. I used to cherish the quiet; now, I am uncomfortable with it, I don't know how to fill it with words anymore, and I run to distraction to get myself out of the way of potential productivity. This goes against everything I want, and yet, here I am by choice.
There's hope at the end of the song, and that might be why I keep listening. "I know that things just don't grow if you don't bless them with your patience." Maybe patience is the trick: for me, for my better half to stay awake long hours, for my focus to match my love of writing. "I've been here before, I've held up the door, for every stranger with a promise. But I'm holding back, that's the strength that I lack. Every morning keeps returning at my window." Like the girls in the song bellow: I am saying to each thing inside me: Be my Johnny & I'll be your June. The little darling of Self has got me tongue tied.
sing, little darling, sing with me.