I consider myself pretty self-aware. It’s not something I necessarily pat myself on the back for, but in general, it’s one of the few things that I can have confidence in – being in tune with my thoughts, body, perceptions (and their falseness, at times). I may be lacking in realistic views of other people (often hoping and pedestal building where I shouldn’t) but I know me.
It’s what happens when you spend the better part of your life knowing that there was something inherently wrong inside, which didn’t necessarily match what pretty much no one knew was wrong outside. You get into your own head a lot, turning things over, testing in a hypothetical grey-matter universe.
Recently, I had a conversation wherein I told someone that I considered her further evolved than I am, yet it wasn’t a self-deprecating comment.
I can see clearly that for the first time in my life, for the past year, I’ve actually been evolving. Moving toward positive changes. Previously, I was watching myself, and taking notes, but not doing much to remedy the lack of whatever-the-problem-was. Now, I see a path that I’m not following that I’d like to be on, and I start heading in that direction, however slowly.
It’s growth, on a minute level. But it still counts, to me. And I’m not where I’d like to be, yet.
So, in amongst this watching and critiquing of myself, deciding on future courses of action and inaction, I’ve grown the ability to sometimes just silently perceive. And today, I had this lightbulb moment, wondering when it was that I became two people.
I have this life that’s largely based in rules. Most of those rules are rooted deeply in obsessive compulsive disorder and learning to get along with ADD. A lot of them are formed from knowing that my mood on X day will be like _________, therefore, I should do A, B and C on day Y. Confused?
For instance:
I have specific days that I do specific things. Laundry is nearly always Thursday, baking is Wednesday and Friday, the bathroom is cleaned on Monday, the kitchen scrubbed on Tuesday and so on. I’ve orchestrated this chore list based on watching my normal day-to-day evergy levels wax and wane – I know that on Wednesday, I’m likely to have an energy slump, so I put baking (a low priority, low-energy event) on the agenda. Thursday is Isobel’s first daycare morning of two during the week, and I usually end up having a wealth of gusto after a morning off of mommyhood. And so on.
Anyway, I’m losing my point here. I have all these rules. Toys must go away after playtime, teeth must be brushed at these times, the bathtub must be scrubbed before bath time, and so on. They keep me in line, grounded, safe. On the outside, to a lot of people (and especially to those who live in my anti-universe, flying my the seat of their ginch), it seems that I am all about structure and doing what is dictated as necessary.
Today, it occurred to me that there are several parades where I’m left marching alone, going to my own beat. Throwing caution behind me, my drum is resonating. Rules? We don’t follow no stinking rules. It blows my mind, man.
It made me wonder why it is that we must not ever ever ever handle meat that’s been around for three days, yet I don’t vaccinate.
Why is it that I would never wear an entire eyelid of blue eyeshadow, yet my hair and eyebrows are so obviously converse to my skin tone?
Where do I get off, when I have a face of freckles and when with my natural hair colour, wearing tortoiseshell, pink and red? They clash.
Who the hell am I, this person led by 50,831 rules that chucks them all out the window as soon as dinner time arrives – choosing to sit on the floor at a coffeetable, eating scrambled eggs, salsa, avocado and chopped tomatoes from a side plate.
What makes some structures requisite for daily life, yet others, non-existent? Why did my life progress from A, B, C, through to L, because it was what was expected of me – and so what I thought I wanted – and now, I’m so alternative?
This is the kind of stuff that vodka and inappropriately-dark tinted eyebrows makes me think of.
It’s a really good thing that I don’t smoke pot anymore, or this post would have been even longer, made even less sense, and been twice as entertaining to me.
With nachos.
{If you’re so inclined, hop over to the review blog and check out my post about all kinds of dermaglow sensitive skin FAIL.}
