Inside the Panorama

I was driving, twisting my neck, craning around at the fields on either side of the road, the dusky yellow, everything laying flat, still. I thought it was beautiful, the sun cutting in from the clouds every few seconds, catching the bone corn stalks lying in heaps. I felt the landscape this great sad, broken thing, and at the same time, this fresh, supple, space. And driving through, I suddenly saw myself, my little car, closeups of my brow, my hairline, my ear, my eyes reflecting in the mirrors, and I realized, I felt that I was inside this panorama.

I feel broken lately. Slashed. Fallen. Splayed out on the floor. Splayed on my bed in the morning. Not sad. Just wanting to stay. Wanting to hold fast to that space, the wadded knots of sheets, the blankets swarmed like currents colliding. The lighting, the grey soft diffusion through my big window, through the wild branches of the oak standing out front. I want my bed. I want that softness. I want to sink and sink until all the coils have me, and I don't have to keep tense, keep holding myself up.

I'm guessing a lot of this has to do with working forty-fifty hours a week while finishing up my last semester of college. I realize I've done this for the past five years. I have worked full time, gone to school full time. Managed to make good grades. Managed to connect with people, make friends, experience so many new new things I never thought I'd try.

It's been a good five years. But exhausting. I am burnt out. Legitimately. I never thought I would burn out. I thought I was stronger than that. And I hate the thought of burning out because it makes me feel very ashamed. I can do this, I think. I am capable.

But it's time for it to end. I am ready to graduate. I got another job today to take the place of my office job on campus, so it looks like I'll be able to save money this summer, and perhaps move somewhere warmer before it gets cold again. I really want to move. I really want warmth. Ohhhh...it would be so nice.

I just have to figure out where I'm going.

I read nearly half of Henri Nouwen's Life of the Beloved last night, while avoiding school work, and was struck by one particular line, "But neurosis is often the psychic manifestation of a much deeper human darkness: the darkness of not feeling truly welcome in human existence." I think that this is the major issue running through my mind lately. I feel so ridiculously undeserving. Sometimes, when I am alone, I literally start laughing at myself because I am soooo ridiculous. I am so loved. So loved. I think of Andrew. I think of Chase. Of Elizabeth. Of Amanda. Of Ashley. Alicia. Paula. And so many other people who tell me they love me. And they aren't awkward about it. It's just true for them. And it's unbelievable that I still experience these bouts of just wanting out of life, because I don't feel like it has any significant space for me.

I remember working at starbucks and how all the young girls had this radar for guys who I felt were not good enough for them. They chose guys who called them idiots. Who were possibly physically abusive. Who relied on these girls more than they should have. I started taking note of my own radar (romantic). When I walked on campus I noticed that when I found someone attractive, or interesting, I would tuck my head down, automatically assuming that I would not have a shot with those people. Or perhaps I'd talk with them, and remain confident, but I wouldn't continue being interested in them, I would still believe that there was no hope for me in the romance department with those people. For the most part it was subconscious, but as I paid attention, I realized just how often during the day I subconsciously say to myself, "I am not worth that." I noticed how very quickly I construct walls to keep my safe from having someone else tell me I'm unworthy, I'm not good enough, before I tell myself.

It's all about control, really. It's about thinking, "I'll just guess that I'm horrific looking, that I'm completely idiotic, that I am not creative, that I'm a poor writer, that I am totally scatterbrained, before someone else tells me these things. Because if someone else tells me them first, I will die. I will melt into the carpet, and dry up. I won't be here, because I can't handle that."

When I really think about myself, how I view myself, I like who I am. I think I'm more scatterbrained in public, when I'm worried about what people are thinking. But when I'm confident, I'm smart. I'm witty. I can do conversation. And beyond that, I connect with lots of people, and I love them dearly. I am creative, I love my imagination. And sometimes, I'm even a good writer. And in the past few years, I have even learned to sing in front of one or two people, and have danced like a madwoman.

There are possibilities for me. There is hope. There will be jobs. Will be love. Will be holding-close. Will be good writing. Success. Some falling-short. And hopefully, some real letting go. Less self-rejection. More believing that I am beloved, as is.