Dear Self,

I wanna give you everything I have to give. (And yes, it really is that cliche.)

What follows feels not only embarrassingly honest, but quite different from what I’ve been sharing up til now. I’ve been wanting to try my hand at writing more analytical pieces; more straight-forward, essay type posts about my thoughts and experience. I tend towards the abstract and poetic, the creation of a feeling rather than its explicit description. But sometimes that doesn’t cut it in terms of processing.  I’ve been going through so much change and transition lately (about the last year and a half) and discovering new parts of myself and the world – trying to feel through and integrate each of them. And there’s just something about being able to pinpoint a specific feeling through words and at least trying to identify an understanding of it. I find it can bring a lot of comfort.  And, in terms of appeal, I also think it will provide a more honest, well rounded offering for you and a better representation of me and my life.

Yet, I’m very uncomfortable sharing these thoughts with an audience. Of course when I read other writer’s essays on experience I think “Wow, how brave, how relatable, how well said.” But when it comes to my own writing I think “Me?? Who the heck would actually care about my puny woes? I should just go whine in the corner where no one can hear me.” 

So this is me trying to ignore that voice. It feels to me the most vulnerable (by far) that I’ve dared to be here. Please treat it with tenderness :) And if any part connects with you in your current state or to any point in your past, I’d really love to hear in the comments <3

Sidenote: For those of you not familiar with this platform, who got carried over from my original email list – it is free to create an account, you do not have to pay a thing, but having an account is the only way to leave a comment. To reach the website, simply click the link at the top right of the email that says ‘open online’ or ‘open in browser’.

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For the life of me I can’t find the words, or at least, haven’t been able to yet. I don’t think I even know what I’m trying to write about (though maybe I should give myself more credit). It's terrifying, frustrating, impossible. I feel an overwhelming need to at least try to untangle my feelings and their meanings, yet each time I begin, next to nothing arrives on the page. Which has brought me to the conclusion that this practice will take time, some form of consistency and patience. That scares me. Because, as unafraid as I am of hard work, discipline – that consistent return to structure – has never been my strength. 

A few weeks ago I was visiting a friend in the Cuyama Valley on a property where she had spent the winter and we decided to play a game of sorts to wind down the evening. She selected a book from her collection and together we meditated over it, allowing a question to present itself to each of us. I had nothing specific on my mind as I dropped in and was surprised by what materialized. My question was: what am I avoiding? 

Next steps included ceremonially cleansing the book with a combination of palo santo, sage and cedar leaves. Then, with eyes closed, we took turns flipping through the book, feeling for a sort of energy pull. Once a page was selected we ran our fingers over and over until they settled on a passage which we then read aloud. The response to my question was undoubtedly relevant to my situation and quite potent to a point beyond my logical expectation. Anything else on those two pages, and probably many others, would have fallen flat – there was some magic in our midst.

However, the answer I received was a bit specific. And in the weeks that have followed, I’ve had the feeling there has to be more answers than just one. I just haven’t been able to let the question go. 

I often write about things that are very simple – unremarkable daily occurrences but turned into a story woven together, viewed through a dualistic lens but often overall uplifting. I create a story that gives a feeling but never explicitly states its purpose. The reader must interpret and often won’t ever know exactly what I meant which means my vulnerable truth has a place to hide. Or at least I can pretend; I can rest in the abstract and symbolic. So…what am I avoiding?

I keep not planning my next steps for travel, though I say I’m leaving for Mexico in September. But there seem to be so many other things to do that are more fun and important at the moment. So…what am I avoiding?

I’ve been drinking too much, too often lately so…what am I avoiding?

I’ve been giving my affection and energy so openly and freely. I’ve been disappointed more times than I’ve told myself ‘I love you.’ My boundaries are often thin and easily explained away So…what am I avoiding?

It’s Sunday. I woke up at 9 and made coffee, then read some essays and emails of interest. I went to my parents house across the street to sit in the backyard with some sunshine and the dog and began writing. I went home, cooked some mushrooms, eggs and toast. Now I’m laying on a blanket in the front yard of my place, continuing to write, very slowly. It’s 12:45. I keep thinking about maybe going to the beach or trying to figure out who my friends are, how I want to see them but also desperately want to be alone. I’m considering going on a run even though my hips still hurt, I’m just so tired of it. I’ve been saying over and over how important it is for me to write but every time I feel like there’s something better for me to be doing. 

An old man just walked by my house and I was trying not to stare. He was walking very slowly and taking frequent breaks and during one he made a motion that looked like he blew a kiss at my house. I’m going to take it as a positive sign. Like he’s a metaphor for me. 

One of my favorite things to do is pretend that lines in songs were written from me to myself. For example:

And she'll take all you ever have

But I'm gonna love you

You say, "Maybe it'll last this time"

But I'm gonna love you

You'd never have to ask

I'm gonna love you

'Til you start looking back

There I’ve gone again veering into the whimsical. I should be used to this by now right? To my tendencies and patterns? If I was going to be different, wouldn’t I be there by now? I shouldn’t be so easily tricked into believing things have changed, let alone me.

I do believe in whimsy, in the surreal and energetic, but too much of anything can become a crutch. So here’s the unpoetic truth:

I think I’m avoiding the basic fact that, say it with me, growing is not god, damn, linear.

I think I’m avoiding the idea that maybe I don’t love that love also includes loving the things I want to get rid of.

I think I’m avoiding plans to leave because I won’t let go of the delusional idea that “being ready” is the same thing as having everything tied up just so – having completed all the projects, tasks, experiences I’ve ever wanted to complete here.

I think I’m avoiding full expression of important parts of who I know myself to be because I have self trust issues. 

I think some of the answers are so big and uncomfortable that I’m avoiding their truth.

I think I’m avoiding all the work it takes to love myself authentically, all on my own. (Oh GOD, is it really that cliche??) And I tend to look instead for validation from other people. What is this inescapable need to belong and be appreciated?

My entire life all I’ve wanted is to feel loved. It used to consume me and sometimes I’m still not safe from its clutches. Here’s a super truth: in middle through high school, whenever I had a crush I used to go for walks around my neighborhood thinking that *maybe* they would show up, looking for me. Yeesh that makes me actually, physically cringe as I type it. 

But, as much as I squirm admitting it, this is a theme. I’ve always thought love would just “appear” to me one day. Kind of like my belief that, yeah, the money will come eventually, right?

I don’t even need to say it, we all know that’s not quite how it works. It's a yes, but kind of situation. Yes, some things just take time, but we must also input our hard work and good will. Yes, there is divine power among us that will gift us unexpectedly, but we have to be willing to accept the gifts that come. And somehow, I’ve managed to incorporate that understanding into each aspect of my life except for love. As much as I know the actual (mostly) truth, engaging with it is another thing entirely. 

I’m not just talking about romantic love and, the more I think about it, the more I think I’m almost exclusively talking about self love. I am allllll about being ourselves – unrestrained authenticity may be my deepest joy, in practice and observation. And these days there’s more exposure and encouragement towards self expression // self love than ever. Still, I wonder, how much am I really engaging in my movement towards deeper self love and how much am I just passively relying on time to ‘work its magic’? Almost like self love is so obvious that it should just be a given – an automatic bodily function that I don’t need to oversee.

Sometimes I think all these thoughts are just me taking my life way too seriously (as I’ve been told I am, by some). That I’m trying to ‘figure it out’ too much, not just existing in the moment and accepting it. But I think it's pretty obvious that there’s a balance here. Allowing, but also discerning. Going through phases, but not staying forever. Having a goal, but not attaching too decidedly to the path. 

A friend of mine said to me recently, “maybe you feel imbalanced right now, but if you zoomed out, maybe you’d see this is actually balance on a larger scale, over the full course of your life.” Hmm, he might be right, maybe I am overthinking.

What’s funniest about all of this is I’m the most me I’ve ever been. I feel the most free, expressive, beautiful, joyful, level, able, aware, certain that I’m on the right path than I’ve ever been. That’s a big deal and I feel very proud. And yet, sometimes I’m not sure I’ve done enough.

There is one line from the passage I received from that magical book in response to my question ‘what am I avoiding’ that I will share, because similar to the song lyrics, I like to imagine it as an interaction between me and myself. It goes:

“With all the failings between them, he still wanted to love her, shelter her, protect her.”

And I do. Despite repeatedly doing the opposite, I do. I want to take myself by the hand and wrap myself around myself. We could do whatever – write a poem about it, fold some laundry, go to sleep. Just me and me. And whatever we’re avoiding, it's not our love. And however long we stay there, we don’t feel resentment when we leave. We don’t judge how much ‘everything’ we have to give one another at any moment in time. And love is not always linear.

And I think that's all it is. I love me, but I’m also selfish. I love me but I also don’t want to deal with it. I love me, but just quit it already. Go untangle your thoughts with someone else. 

All of these things are true. So we can compromise. Avoid. The day. Away, sometimes. But also at the end, return. Give yourself a hug. Give yourself a big slobbery kiss in the mirror. Because, even with all our failings, we still want to.

xx Mariah