glitch. lightening. growth.
a prophetic dare in hindsight
GLITCH
How do you find yourself?
I mean this in all the ways: How do you find yourself in this moment (in your current state)? Emotionally? Existentially? And, how do you find yourself (as if you were lost)? Emotionally? Existentially? I’m genuinely curious.
As for me, I’m glitching. Lost in thought a lot lately. My ping ponging brain is under siege. Overactive and tired. But, as I frenetically yapped about earlier this month, I’m finding myself through yapping, still. And, also, writing, journaling, meandering through the sagebrush of thoughts—allowing some of the ping ponging to be purposeful. I find my way out of the thicket (my head) eventually, at least for a moment at a time, taking a deep gulp of fresh air.
I haven’t felt the most grounded lately, have you? Organizing my thoughts helps me understand which are actions, which are feelings, which ones are general dread or anxiety. This is not revolutionary. Seeing my own thoughts staring back at me in my own handwriting pleases the monsters in my gut. Like, okay girl, you can chill—mind is talking to body successfully. Take a breath.
I find myself in this moment weighed down by wildly polarizing emotions. One minute I’m doing great—I have all ten fingers and toes accounted for, my hair color is slapping (I’m having fun as a blonde for a beat), this summer’s agenda is full of Things to Look Forward To, and the sun is shining.
Then, the next minute hits, a pound of bricks in the gut—the fear and low key rage simmering for the state of this country, the witnessing of infuriating incompetence abounds both in politics and my work spheres, the ever-evolving family and relationship dynamics, and the sun is shining, yes, but it’s a little hot sometimes and I don’t like to sweat that much. This spectrum reeks of privilege, I don’t deny that, but the whiplash of the high highs, the mildly high-ish highs, the kinda low lows, and low lows is quite jarring.
Ping pong, indeed.
Existentially, I know from my conversations with friends that so many of us are feeling unmoored. So, I’m not the only one. I’m not alone. But, so what? That means there’s a bunch of us floating in the ether? Drifting aimlessly out to sea? Un-friggin’-moored, the lot of us?!
There are coping mechanisms and tools I could and probably should employ for this feeling. Things I’ve used in the past with enough success that I think of them now. But, lately, there’s been a glitch in the timeline. A glitch in my regularly scheduled programming. A glitch in what feels good, what seems right, what resonates.
LIGHTENING
I turned 39 this May, amidst a six-week hellish work schedule. *moody clouds build in the distance* A string of emergency dental appointments. *the overhead sky begins to darken* A barrage of tumultuous national news. *the thunder rolls* Finding a moment of peace, of hope, of love, of righteous rage, of connection. *lightening strikes*
My dad’s best friend, who is basically an uncle to me, has called me a “force of nature” for as long as I can remember. I wrote about this already (over on the Dear Reader’s Substack):
My father’s best friend has called me a “force of nature” since my first attitude-filled side-eye as a toddler (of course I was a precocious child!). My whole family never misses a chance to remind me of this moniker, like I could forget being compared to a destructive weather event for over three decades. My ex-mother-in-law called me a “hurricane.” I’ve been shushed in libraries, classrooms, and speakeasies. I’ve had friends and romantic partners tell me how “much” I am. And, more times than I can actually count, I’ve had bosses, coworkers, and colleagues tell me I should “calm down” or “chill out” when I would explain a position, argument, or strategy.
Until I turned 30, I internally rolled my eyes at the descriptor—Force of Nature. It’s not that I have endeavored to be the Cool Girl. Even my childhood friends would have described me at the time as VERY CHALANT—not with that exact terminology, of course, but allow me to borrow from a favorite recent meme (which says “fuck being nonchalant. I love being a chalant bitch. I have never been chill not once in my life, even when I am asleep I am clenching my teeth”).
I turned 39 in May. I reiterate for effect. Pause here for another boom of thunder, more lightening to follow. *One one thousand, two one thousand.* It’s so close. The lightening, that is.
My age feels magical in numerology: 3 x 13. Also, so close to 40. *One one thousand.* It’s so close.
Maybe I’m a teenager, thrice over, for now. Swiftie pride fills me with this realization, especially pairing it with my glitchy itch—the numerology of a glitch turned electric. Buzzing with static electricity. Hair askew. Eyes to the sky. My face illuminated for an moment and a few dark corners I don’t want illuminated. I haven’t cleaned over there in a while, for god’s sake.
Lightening is menacing, powerful, and potent. Perhaps I identify with this particular force of nature clearly right now in this moment. Maybe I always have. Beautiful in its expression, deadly in potential. Like lightening, my emotions flare. They sing. They shock and awe.
It could be a momentary glitch. Or, I am lightening; lightening is me. To be chalant is to be a force bigger than my consciousness. Bigger than the glitch. Putting the normal state of affairs on hold. I find myself embracing the storm.
GROWTH
The collage I share with you today was made during a vision board party in January. I focused on style, but what I birthed was something prophetic, accidentally. Or, my subconscious was formulating a plan.
GLITCH, LIGHTENING, GROWTH.
The words were not sought out in any specific manner. I didn’t even meditate on them more than a few seconds before I gave them a healthy thwack of the glue stick and placed them on the work in progress. (Draft form, yet again.) My exercise of building a style vision board is and was truly an exercise in subconsciousness. What am I drawn to? What inspires me aesthetically? What stirs something in my belly?
The discourse around style is well-established. Style is an expression. Style is commentary on the times. Style can be protest. Style revolutionizes. But my meditation on style is, in many ways, a bellwether for my life’s trajectory. Or, at least, it’s a gust of wind urging me to visit the places in my heart and in my dreams where I have long neglected certain ideas or desires.
I see now that what I sought with this exercise, I needed. The glitch (disruption), the lightening (flame), the growth (evolution). Returning to a snake shedding her skin.
Last year’s style vision board reminded me, boldly, to BE TOO TALL. This year, was it a prophecy? A challenge?
I think, truthfully, it was actually a dare.
Gotta love Cassie Sue!