Disappointed I am. With some people, some Zen, supposedly caring people, healers even, who are taking this whole quarantine-pandemic in a complete wrong, selfish way. People who should know better and act better.
But they don’t.
Currently, in the middle of so much pain and sorrow, they are more concerned about their lack of “freedom “, the imposed restrictions, the uncomfortable use of masks and the impossibility of going out just like it used to be.
And others are taking way too light the restrictions of social distancing and the quarantine mode, going out and about, just because, not for the essential.
Yep, life is currently interrupted. At least, the way we knew it. And it really sucks, but life is interrupted in the attempt of stopping the virus to spread, to give time to doctors and nurses to take care of everybody who might need care. Life is interrupted to save lives, the most we possibly can. Because lives do matter, regardless the age, health condition, race, gender and status quo. And they should be our first and main focus. And we should do our very best, our part to stop this damn pandemic. If we handle it correctly, everything else will follow. And bit by bit we will all return to our lives as we knew it. Hopefully with great lessons learned and applied, with more compassion and kindness in our actions, with focus on what it really matters, appreciating the ones we love and spending more time, a good time with them.
But that is just a hope. A wishful thinking. Because when I look at those people who as I said should know better and act better and the way they are approaching this whole crisis (and I am not even tackling the conspiracy theories they are firmly believing in) I can’t help thinking that yep, life will return to its normal self, but not with improved beings or even an improved reality. Not this time around. Not yet.
Because even people who should know better and act better are not.
And although this is not a surprise, it’s unfortunate.
And highly disappointing.
Yesterday, early in the morning, out of nowhere it came to me that it was an ex-boyfriend’s birthday. My last boyfriend. He actually was not a real boyfriend just someone I was starting to know. The whole experience was not a smooth one, because we lived our “romance” for most of its brief time a Continent apart. And since I am not the best when the subject is keeping in touch via messages, videos, texting… I guess at some point he thought I was losing interest in him. But I was not. I was just being me, the antisocial me, the person who sucks in keeping in touch. Or to keep any relationship, to be fair.
So when we reunited al last, he ditched me. With distance and then words in a message. Still don’t know why exactly, but I let him go. Easily. Not because I was no longer interested in trying but because I realized I didn’t like the version of him that didn’t like me. That simple.
And yet, that hard.
We moved on, in different directions and up to this moment our paths haven’t crossed. And I don’t think it ever will. Because that is what happens every time with me and my relationships. They only last till they last. And when it’s over it doesn’t become something else, just a nothing.
And that is the tuff part for me; this nothing afterwards. Because all my exes or most of them were keepers, men that I would like to keep around, in my life. Not for sex or any romantic innuendo but as a friend or at least someone that somehow would still be part of my life, even if sporadically. To talk, laugh here and there, over a coffee. Or a tea.
It’s not because we are no longer in love or falling in love that we couldn’t keep in touch. At least for me. For them it seems an impossible task. When it’s over it’s like I got a terrible contagious disease and they feel as if they need to be far away from me. As far as they can. It’s a matter of life and death.
Dramatic but true. And that is how endings like that makes me feel. A failure. Worthless. Nothing.
Just someone who never had a bad, sore breakup does believe that the first impressions are the ones that remain. In this case, it’s not. It’s that last sad, ugly, sore memory of that melancholic breakup that will stick with you, that will flavor the whole story with its bitterness, regardless the story you had before it. Because when you look back and recall the story, it’s not the good silly times we had together, the way our conversation flew as if we were best friends for years and years, the way he knew how to put a big smile in my face that will come up. All of it is vanished and what remains is how bitter and sour was that ending. How horrible it made you feel. And it’s impossible not to think that that story deserved a better end. Not necessarily happily ever after, but a much better one. I deserved better. You deserved better. We deserved better.
Would then this and other love stories with bad endings be in vain, I wonder?
It sure does feel like that, but then again love is love. And love, regardless the ending, is never, ever in vain.
Yet, still moving.
But always moving.
Away from my dreams.
Because they are THE things I am doing my very best (or worst?) avoiding to go for.
So I move…
In other directions.
Away from them.
That is why I fell stuck, frozen in time. Because although I am moving I am going nowhere really. Not where I should go.
And that sucks.
Not only because time is getting short each day, month and year I procrastinate yet another step in the right direction.
But because deep inside I know I am not doing what I am suppose to do.
Funny thing is I don’t think I am moving too far from my dreams.
I stick around.
Just in case?
With a wide opened eye on them.
A heart beating in their rhythm.
But my feet, damn feet!, follows my scary mind that keep on walking away from them.
Just going round and round, waiting to jump in any moment.
Actually, not in any any moment, but the perfect moment when inspiration becomes so impossible to avoid that I have no other alternative other than jump in.
But the sad true is the fear of failure (or should I say, to succeed?), the ghost of perfectionism, the critical devil inside keep guarding me from this vital jump.
Till when will I be around waiting for that perfect moment that will never ever come? I wonder.
Because there is no such thing as the perfect moment. Just the moment. And by itself, without harsh judgements or romantic ideals, it can become the perfect moment.
Or something very close to it.
I don’t fear the answer. I know the answer.
What I fear the most is to know that even knowing the recipe to unfrozen me, here I am, frozen as an Iceberg.
But not really.
And yet moving.
Round and round.
With this huge and amazing ocean to brave ahead.
With my Morning Walk. As usual. As I have been doing since a year ago when I decided to walk every morning to heal my left knee. The knee is 100% again but I kept my Morning Walks as a routine ever since. A routine that goes beyond an acquired habit; it’s my beloved way to start my day. Some people do it with a cup of coffee, for me it’s my Morning Walks. They set my vibe for day. Plus, it’s that moment, my moment to be out there with green nature around and all the colors that live inside me. As I listen to my music set for the day, I listen to my thoughts and the absence of it. I breathe in, I breathe out, respiration, perspiration, perception, feelings, inspiration, expiration. It’s like a Moving Meditation, an inner talk between me, myself and I. And the Universe. It’s Zen, Real, Mine. And I really appreciate every minute of it. Enjoy it. Cherish it. Regardless the weather.
That is why, year in, year out, here I am, Morning Walking. Not because the calories burnt and the cardio workout (although they are both pluses), but because it’s something that makes me feel good inside by doing it. It lights my inner fire, my inner light. That is why I keep on doing it. And there is no better motivation to keep morning walking than this.
#HappyNewYear #EveryDayMotivation #KeepWalking