Something is going on with me. It’s why I haven’t written a blog in almost a month. I keep restarting. Maybe I have nothing to say. Or maybe too much to say. And no way to say it.
I am tongue tied. My thoughts are in flummox. My anxiety at an all high. Therapy is helpful but no one but me can really help me.
It may be that I feel aimless. Like a compass whose needle is broken, I am spinning and don’t know where to go from here. My heart (i.e., god, the universe, my intuition, whatever you want to call it) is pulling me toward my art and an artistic free lifestyle. But, life (the idea that one should be pragmatic and practical at forty something) is saying calm down, you have it good. I have a great job I love, but there are days where I watch all of the misery in court and want to break free.
To see my many clients in shackles breaks something in me each day. They shuffle into court and many in our courtroom probably don’t see them for who they are. But for me, their humanity is omnipresent. They are children of God. And by participating in the barbaric process of human confinement, am I perpetuating it? My concerns are real and true. To stay doing what I am doing you have to fortify yourself and I don’t want to be so tough that I become jaded or callous.
So what to do? I’m sitting here in Vegas wide awake at 5 am. It’s our Valentine’s trip and I should be having a blast instead of pondering life’s questions. Or at the very least sleeping.
But instead I just keep asking myself, “why am I here?”
In an effort to alleviate a little of the darkness of this piece, I have to quote from the song that’s been running in my head while writing this blog, “What I Am” by Edie Brickell because it seems fitting (and because I just love this song):