Thoughts & (Lack of) Feelings

Hi friends.

I’m on a plane back to New York so if you’ve followed this blog for a while, you know that means I’m writing. It’s become a funny pattern, most of my posts starting off with “I’m on a bus, plane, etc.”, but honestly, I’ve realized it’s the only time I feel inspired.

In reality, it’s the only time I’m not tempted by external noise - scrolling social media, watching shows, watching clips of shows on social media. It’s pretty sad really, but I’ll take it if it means I’m writing.

I remember growing up, years before my inevitable ADHD diagnosis, I would tell people it felt like I had a never-ending playlist in my head. It was a constant undercurrent to whatever else was on my mind at the time, which was usually a lot. And while I certainly always have some song stuck in my head due to the viral clipification (yes I just made that word up) of music these days, recently my mind has felt strangely...empty. Sometimes I feel like I’ve forgotten how to think.

I’m not sure what the root cause is, as I’m sure there are many. The constant overexposure to media definitely doesn’t help, but I think there’s more to it. I hinted at it slightly in my update about leaving Charlotte, but the deeper truth is I don’t know the last time I really felt something. And that’s not to say I’m unhappy. In fact, I have a decent amount of confidence in saying I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time. But happiness is much different than other emotions, the depth doesn’t feel the same as sadness, grief, loneliness.

In a way it’s a good thing. Up until the past few years, I thought that I could never escape my depression. I remember the heaviness I felt all the time, like a rain cloud was perpetually over my head. And like most great art, my best inspiration came from these periods of great sadness. I wrote about the way my depression and anxiety took over every aspect of my life. I don’t really feel that way anymore. Or at least, not as overwhelmingly.

Life feels lighter now. But in turn, it feels more shallow. Sometimes I feel like I’m not truly experiencing life if I’m not sad. That I must be in some happy daze that will eventually wear off and bring me right back to those feelings I had as a teenager. In reality, most of the pressures that weighed so heavily on me at the time have lifted now, so there’s no reason for me to feel the way I did then. Maybe I just can’t accept that happiness isn’t always this exuberant burst of joy but rather a simple contrast to sadness. Like how a sunny day isn’t as special in the summertime until it comes after a rainstorm.

And trust me, I know this isn’t a totally novel concept. We see this theme in literature and film of the tortured poet, the starving artist, the mad genius. History shows us the greatest artists are often the most tormented by emotion. Heartbreak albums are often considered a musician’s best work, and when they find love again the music falls flat. I guess that’s how I feel in a way, but I’m not in love (and a lot of the time question if I ever truly have been). That’s another hard thing about emotions, the further away they become, the less intense they feel. It’s easy to diminish the way we felt in the past because our memory works to suppress the weight of it. In that same sense, I think I’ve forgotten what love feels like because it’s been so long since I’ve experienced it.

As most people who read this blog are probably (painfully) aware, the last man I dated profoundly changed me. That relationship made me question everything - who I was, who in my life truly cared about me, and at times, if life was even worth living. It also damaged so many of my friendships, my view on love, and ultimately my view of myself in ways I’ve never fully reconciled. It’s hard to accept that I thought what I experienced in that relationship was love when it was the furthest thing from it. It makes me wonder if I really know what love is at all.

(Author’s Note: Of course, I do know love in many other forms. The love I feel from my friends, my family, and now myself is incredibly powerful and beautiful in its own way. But it is still profoundly different from romantic love, which is the example here.)

It’s funny, the direction this post is turning makes it sound like I’m wanting to be in love and that I’m not happy being single. Really, that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, I think a large part of why the past ~4 years of my life have been so peaceful and joyful and fulfilling are because I’ve been single. The opportunity to understand myself more completely without the reliance on another person asking the questions. The freedom each day to do as I wish and carve my own path without the influence of a partner. The growth that comes from experiencing hard things alone and making it to the other side knowing you got yourself through it. These have made my life better than any relationship ever has, because I know I have the power to create a beautiful life for myself.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, though I don’t wish to be in a relationship, I do miss the profound depth of emotions that relationships force you to experience, for better or worse. The irony is, if you had asked me then what my greatest wish was, it would be to feel content. Now I would say I’m the most content with life I’ve ever been, but perhaps this post is entirely contradictory to that. How can I claim to be content when I write about longing to feel? Is this just the doomed fate of being human, to always wish for more?

All of these points coincide with another feeling I’ve been trying to put into words lately, which is the desire to experience everything in life, and in turn not truly experiencing anything. Sometimes I feel so focused on all the things I want to do that I can’t enjoy them when they’re actually happening. Like a never ending checklist of books to read, movies to watch, albums to listen to in order to feel like I’ve finally cracked the code of the human experience. That I’ve felt everything you’re supposed to feel and learned everything you’re supposed to learn.

(This is the part of the blog post where I need to remind myself I’m 24 and (hopefully) have a long, incredible life ahead of me. But it doesn’t make that desire to chase the idea of really “living” go away.)

To paraphrase a quote my dear friend shared with me, “we think we have many desires, but in fact we only have one: to live forever.” My interpretation is that if we live forever, we live in the promise that all of our desires can be fulfilled, or at least explored without the threat of mortality. It is the fleeting nature of time and our inevitable death that often paralyzes me, fearing that I’m not spending my one precious life the way I should. That every moment I spend not leaning into my passions, I’m wasting my time.

I like to say I’m this big creative type - a singer, a writer, what have you - but in reality, how often do I take the time to sing or write? It’s hard to feel identity in these titles the way I did when I was younger. Back then, people knew me as the annoying choir kid who found any opportunity to sing or the sad girl who wrote poetry instead of paying attention in physics class. These parts of me were baked into my routine - the electives I took, the extracurriculars I was in, the friends I surrounded myself with. Now, I can’t remember the last time I sang in harmony among friends.

Perhaps this is just the reality of adulthood, life takes on other priorities and leaves us with less time, less energy, to do what we truly love. And because that time has become more rare, more valuable, there’s an added pressure to make it feel worthwhile. I often have to remind myself that we have to allow our brains time to process our experiences just as our bodies take time to digest our food. That all human processes are interconnected. And that part of being human is not being able to do or feel everything.

I’m starting to lose my point, and my flight’s about to land, but it felt really really good to write again. And actually write, not just a yearly “life update” to make me feel better about calling myself a writer.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I hope it made even a little bit of sense. Til next time.