I write when I’m in a dark place. Sorry, but that’s kinda just the way it seems to be working out. (I think of blogs as happy places where people share all the awesome experiences they’re having or show other people how to make all the amazing stuff they’re making, or document recipes; and perhaps (as I’ve discovered more recently) dolls and the making of their lovely clothing. I think of blogs where people document pleasure. I don’t think of blogs as places where people share their ‘profound life lessons’… or darkness. Let’s just call it what it is – their darkness.)

But here I am… feeling dark. I feel a lot of pressure to ‘go out there and experience life because oh my god you’re in New Zealand and it’s an awesome place and there’s so much for you to experience and you simply must tell us all about how amazing it is… and… stuff.’ The reality is I have four hours every week day morning to have a miniature adventure – but I don’t, and I’m frustrated by it. I don’t go out into the big, amazing New Zealand not so much because I don’t want to (the idea is delightful of course!), or because I can’t (I have a car, I have money to put petrol in car, I have ability to drive car… my sense of direction sucks and I mostly have no clue where I’m going and the idea of getting lost is (quite literally, I’m not using hyperbole here) terrifying… but we have GPS now… so… there’s that.

The thing that holds me back most is fear, which manifests as anxiety.

Now, it’s not the sort of anxiety that requires medical intervention (because I can mostly function from day to day). It’s the ‘what if’ sort of anxiety, the ‘I’m not doing this thing called living right’ anxiety. The truth, I suppose, is that I’m feeling very lost and very disconnected – like a little boat out to sea… bobbing about with no sail… no anchor. At its most melodramatic, I don’t know who I am or how I want to live my life.

(I’ve always measured my life based on how I think other people will react. I’ve lived outside of my self. I’m painfully aware of this.)

 

My sense of self shrinks every day as I convince myself that the ideas I’m entertaining aren’t ‘safe’. Pretty much everything I consider doing feels dangerous because it’s so far from anything I’ve ever done. And I do mean everything.

There are days when I’m brave and I do engage in a new (exciting? interesting? beautiful?) experience. But. There’s always an emotional backlash. The doing of the new thing takes so much out of me energetically, I’m left dumb and numb for a day or two whilst I integrate said new experience into my being.

Because everything has significance. Everything. My mind is constantly busy, processing the significance of things and experiences. Walking in the forest is not just walking in the forest. It’s wondering if there really are divas (many call them fairies) amongst the plants… or how the light looks so clean now that the sun is setting… and isn’t it all so bloody marvellous?

And hey – immigrating to a new country is all about new experiences – so imagine how tapped out I feel most of the time.

And oh god, the learning curve! I imagine myself doing stuff, and then I realise I don’t know how to do that thing… and then it dawns on me that I’d have to learn how to do that thing… and oh god, that takes time and effort and a level of commitment and dedication. Can you see how things fall flat? Feeling tapped out most of the time and being overwhelmed by the idea of learning a new thing gets me nowhere fast. Result: frustration.

There’s also the thing I have about living inside my body. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m more of an imagination (brain) person than a physical (body) person. I have no relationship with my body. We don’t talk much. Sad really, considering how hard my body works to keep me alive…

 

The point is, I’m at a crossroads. I appreciate how moving to New Zealand offers me the opportunity to engage with some of the things I’ve always wanted to explore. The ridiculous things is – I don’t know where to start.

That learning curve feels too steep.

 

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