We got a big dump of snow over night, and as always around here, no one was prepared. No winter tires, no plows, not even any salt or sand to throw on the driveway. Driving was out of the question, but I slid and shuffled out to the bus stop with my tools just before dawn. By the time I got there, my foreman texted to say we were canceling work. So I returned home, and spent the rest of the day trying to resolve some UFOs (“unfinished objects”), mostly sewing-related, and watching the latest season of Saturday Night Live. Kristen Wiig slays me.
My mom was visiting this past weekend, which was wonderful in so many ways… We spent a lot of time just talking, and driving around the city and surrounding countryside to all my favourite places. Her visit also brought up some unexpected thoughts and feelings. I ended up talking about her for the entirety of my therapy session last night, which totally surprised me. That’s been one of the weirdest things about getting my head shrunk each week: Often, I have no idea what’s on my mind until I’m sitting there, and it all comes bubbling out.
Which is the point, I suppose… I mean, if I had it all planned out, maybe I wouldn’t get as much from the sessions, you know? Though sometimes I do know what I need to discuss: Case in point, it was pretty obvious to me that I needed to talk about how I avoid maintaining contact with a lot of people from my past, from exes to high school friends. I didn’t know when exactly it was going to come up, but it was on my “list”… The mental list of personal issues I’ve only just realized I’ve been keeping in my head.
My mother said that she doesn’t read blogs because she doesn’t like all the navel-gazing, all the boring dramatic details about peoples’ neurotic little lives. I laughed, and explained that that’s pretty much my favourite thing. Sure, I follow lots of topical blogs (mostly food nerds and sewing peeps), but I’ve got a huge affection for a well-written train-wreck, and often chide myself for not revealing enough, for not writing the sort of posts that’d hold my attention. Of course, it’s fine, in the grander scheme, because writing here is something I do for myself, and I’m perfectly content with a limited audience.
I think about audience a lot these days. Not just in blogland, but in living my life. Therapy is making me think about the concept of my “life song”, the melody I’m creating with my existence, the story I tell myself and tell others about myself. (Yes, my shrink is an excellently earthy-type individual.) Using this to frame my daily choices, I’m feeling less stressed than I have in the past. It’s easier to call out a coworker on some ugly bullshit comment, and to make time for a quick visit with a friend. It’s also easier to let go: To forgive myself when I don’t live up to my ideals, and to get rid of items I’d thought I’d need to keep because they once meant something to me. Today I tossed out a box of photos, letters, and artwork by ex-lovers, ex-friends, and people I’m simply not close to any more. I didn’t even look at them, and I don’t regret it. In my story, they’re still there, and I’m okay with that… But in my apartment, that junk was taking up valuable space, which simply wouldn’t do.