On Garbage Moods

I’m having a hard time tolerating myself at the moment.

I just – ugh.

I’m not particularly pleasant to be around right now and, because of how human-ing works, I have to be around me alllllllllllll day. Every day. Day after day.

Part of the challenge is the mood swings I’m experiencing. In a few hours, when I’m walking on the beach, I can all but guarantee that my spirit will soar. I’ll feel my bare feet on the sand, wiggling while I walk, and think, “BEING A HUMAN IS SOOOO GOOD.

But the me that was snotting through tissues as I sobbed this morning – her spirit wasn’t soaring.

“This is so hard,” she thought, overwhelmed by ugh feelings. I’m having more of those “ugh” feelings at the moment, clawing at the itchy patches of skin that have come from having YET ANOTHER allergic reaction to YET ANOTHER new place’s detergent. I just counted and I’ve slept in 20 different beds since I left Shenzhen on September 28th. There are 6 more ahead of me before the end of the year.

Sam and I are contorting ourselves to make living in a locked down country work and it’s really getting to me.

The other day, I took my grocery store bill as a personal affront…despite being the one who chucked every single item in my cart.

A personal affront, folks. As if the world were wronging me.

I just…well, I’m not used to living like this anymore. I had my years of depression and addiction and not enjoying being on this planet.

But, these days, I’m used to loving it. I’m used to gratitude, awe and delight being my setpoint.

So when I’m not in those places, when I’m bitter and frustrated and wondering if “feeling murder-y” is the best way to describe my mood while I’m packing my suitcase, it stings.

I want to have such high resilience, such over the top equanimity, that my outside circumstances don’t matter. I want such high frequency vibes that I can be just as happy contorting myself to make China work as I can be living in my dream home in Florida or Asheville.

And…I’m not there yet. The Dalai Lama probably is. Pema Chondron as well. Maybe the taxi driver I met in Abu Dhabi who is the most well-adjusted human I’ve ever met in person.

But ol’ Keely? Not quite there.

Glennon Doyle once wrote that, when her first child went through the world in a pink cloud of relaxed joy, she thought she was a great mom. Then her second child arrived and she had an aha moment: it wasn’t that she was a great mom; it was that her first child was easy.

I think I’m going through something similar.

Because feeling good has become my setpoint, I was in danger of starting to think that I’m someone who just feels good. Almost as if I had become more dandelion-y on the dandelion-orchid spectrum.

But that’s like Glennon thinking she’s a good parent because she has an easy baby. What’s actually true is that I’m someone who works at well-being. It doesn’t “just happen” for me (see Sunday’s musing for context).

And that’s fine with me. I don’t mind having to work at well-being. If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t have found my calling in this lifetime and I freaking love my calling in this lifetime.

So, while I sometimes wish that I was as resilient as a dandelion that grows through the cracks of sidewalks, I’m better off accepting that I’m not.

I happen to be someone who thrives when she’s in environments that are conducive to thriving. And I’m someone who struggles when I’m in environments that are conducive to struggling.

It doesn’t mean I’m broken, defective or a burden (though I really do think Sam deserves a break from all my emotions). It just means that I have to acknowledge that truth.

Just as importantly, I have to acknowledge the truth that what we’re currently doing isn’t working for me. It’s not a convenient truth, nor a warm and fuzzy one. But the truth is the truth is the truth.

And this is my truth right now.

So, because I enjoy being able to tolerate myself (I’m even so scandalously liberated that I frequently ADORE myself), Sam and I are going to figure out what needs to change and take action.

And, like magic, musing has shifted my mood yet again. Instead of snotting into a tissue, choosing the floor over a bed (crying on the floor is SO MUCH more satisfying), I’m feeling grateful. Grateful for insight. Grateful for a devotional practice that helps me connect to Source. Grateful for a husband who is a true partner in every sense of the word.

Just grateful, period. Thanks, Universe.

Wishing you a day of adoring yourself,