help.

Nic and I have been having the same argument for nearly six years. 

It unfolds in nominally different ways each time, but usually centers around my feeling that he needs to do more around the house/ give better input about meals or activities for the family/ offer me more positive feedback/ be more engaging/ plan dates/ pick up his shit/ something similar. 

I will begin the rest of this by saying, all those things are likely true. Nic's suitcase permanently exploding week-old boxer briefs and airplane packs of mixed nuts across the entryway of every house we've ever lived in is supremely annoying. He has a unique way of rapidly opening every cupboard and jar and making a huge mess in the time it takes me to go pee. He spends a majority of his time at home just looking at his phone; he will never ever ever initiate an out-of-the-house activity; he brings attention to my flaws and insecurities in a matter-of-fact way which I recognize is both only because I  am screaming about them, asking to be noticed, and which is done in a way that is impersonal above all else, if that makes sense. They are just words. But still none of the argument is actually about him.

Because the point is, he is not perfect; we have this same fight; and then at the end of it all, I realize that all I'm fighting about is the fact that I am supremely, totally bored.

I am bored. I am so bored I could just shrink up and die.

And the fact that Nic is not operating is some imagined perfect way is only me noticing how fucking bored I am and projecting it onto his actions.

I know that if I were not so bored, I would look at Nic's pile of chonies by the door and think Good God, this guy is messy and it is annoying af but I would NOT think Nic doesn't respect me or care about how much work I do around the house and this old pair of striped underwear is a direct affront to me as a person and I should probably scream at him until I'm hoarse.

If I had other things to flush out my idea of myself, my interests, my concept of how valuable I am, then the underwear wouldn't be quite so big a deal.

I have sort of known this for years. I have made zero changes to fix it, except I get to the realization a lot faster these days.

Two nights ago, I was moping around the house-- my state of being far, far, far too often these days, and when Nic tried to drag it out of me, whatever it is-- the sickness, the discontent, the source of my malaise, I said, almost immediately, "I just want to be interesting."

This is the point at which many well-meaning people tell me I just moved/ had a baby/ had a baby that last time I had a baby/ whatever other life changes excuse a person's not being knee-deep in new new jobs, recreational activities, and leisure interests. And they would be right.

But that doesn't matter, because if I didn't mind my current lifestyle— if I were content to be moving slow, figuring it out, adjusting— it would be one thing, but I most definitely mind.

I mind. I mind.

I am a horrible stay-at-home mom. I love my girls. I give them so much love; I make them good food; I keep my house clean; I plan fun activities; I create developmentally appropriate spaces and invitations to play; I love being with them. I am good at it on a superficial level. Except I am crawling out of my skin. I am just so motherfucking bored.

I feel like my brain is literally atrophying from not being engaged. I can't remember anything. I feel physically and emotionally unmotivated. I am constantly exhausted.

It's not a baby. It is a spiritual crisis.

I need to get started. I need whatever it is that lights a fire under my ass and inspires me to write or move or dance or plant or grow or whatever else. I need that cascade. I need the energy of movement that begets movement.

Certainly I would like a job at some point. Certainly we need income. But I don't just want something to pass the time. I want something that ignites me. 

And I have literally no idea what that is.

I feel embarrassed writing this in some regard and also, it is so totally me that I feel also assured in doing it. The way I find the resources I need is often by these sweeping appeals. People feel connected to me, to my often blatant misery or lostness, to my self-criticism, my flaws, my worries. People like me, because I am willing to like and listen to them, because I can see a part of myself in literally anyone. And so I often find what I need where I don't expect it. Or, I guess, exactly where I do.

Before I make my big request, that also bears mentioning.

I moved cross country with a newborn and a very demanding 2 year old and I have to say: I did it because people helped me. People came out of the woodwork to hold my kids or take them on walks or to the zoo. An old coworker I hadn't seen in maybe a year or more came to literally pick up a truckload of trash from the alleyway behind my house. So many people brought me food. And wine. And food. People showed up at my house early on a Saturday and helped me pack all my shit away in wooden boxes bound for California. People listened to me rant and constantly asked how I was and gave my heart space and my body space.

I still fell the fuck apart. I was so frazzled and anxious. But I made it here, regardless, and I made it because people helped me and they helped me because I asked and even when I didn't ask overtly, I did with my desperation.

So before I ask for more, thank you. Thank you for being a person, who reads these words and finds some commonality or maybe also just gawks at how transparent/ verbose/ trivial/ whatever I am. If you read the words, I know it's because you relate, somehow. If you take time to be here, it's because you are also me, somehow, and that is true whether you feel solace or judgment in response. Thank you for being that person, either way, because it makes me feel alive. Thank you for being a person, maybe, who offers to help, who says something, who comments, who is part of this. Because what I need, ultimately, is to feel not alone. I need to feel connected, to myself, to the earth, to the people around me, and every bit of that that I get helps. It makes me less bored. It elicits that firing of neurons that makes me someone alive, now, in this world. It makes me human.

That was my aside to say, thank you for being human with me. That is the one thing that happens semi-regularly that makes me feel alive in the exact way I am seeking.

And now, for my request. I need help.

I need to do something. And I don't know what it is.

I'm not asking for a job. I'm not asking to pass the time. I'm asking to move/ do/ learn/ be/ grow/ start. I am a firm believer in the cascade-- how you begin one thing and it can snowball into something lovely you never anticipated. I wish I knew what I were asking for. To kayak with you? To go on a backpacking trip? For you to teach me to knit? To volunteer with you? To have a job in your cafe? To do the writing for your blog? To draw the cartoons for your yoga teacher manual? (This one I've actually done...) I don't know what it is! I don't know what it is. But if there's a spot in your life that needs filling, or maybe even just a spot that has space somewhere near you, consider me.

I wish that could happen organically. But I have gotten too far away from it. I've thought too much and sat too long and fretted too much and now I'm sitting here with nails chewed down to the quick and a raging case of anxiety and what I need a spiritual awakening. 

I hope you understand when I say that. I think many people won't. I think whomever I'm hoping to reach with this will.

Everyone else is walking around summarizing their years in hopeful or resigned words, and all I can think is, whether tomorrow is the first of the year or a debatable decade or just a random Tuesday, I have got to switch shit up. I am dying inside. I feel like a polar bear trying to live in the Sahara. I feel like a butterfly trying to carry a piano. I am just not living right. I am not living who and how I’m supposed to be. I am fighting it and fighting it and have gone so long not doing or being whatever I’m supposed to do or be that I can’t even see straight. I need help.

And I will reiterate, again, this isn't about a job. I'm afraid people will respond and try to get me to do remote clerical work for them.

This is not that. 

Though I'm not sure exactly what it is.

All I know is, I keep saying that I'm lost here. 

But I'm not really. What I am is stripped bare enough of my routines and daily noise to step back and pay attention to how done I am with the life I've been living. 

When whatever transformation comes that I've been waiting for, I honestly don't think I'll look any different. I'll probably still live here. I might still be a stay-at-home mom. Maybe I still won't make any money. But I won't be bored. I won't have to pick the fight. Because I will feel all the ways in which I am valuable and interesting and engaged because I will be living them.

I just have to find out where to start.

If you know, if you know at all, please tell me.

And in the meantime, sorry Nic, for yelling at you about the underwear. It’s not about the underwear.

But also, please, pick them up.