Waking up and not sure what to do.
Sometimes, oftentimes, I wake up feeling totally unprepared for anything at all. The world seems a mess, my schedule insane, too many things going on and no clue how to do any of it.
Overwhelmed.
How do I get to the Perfect Whelm? Not overwhelmed, not underwhelmed, just whelmed.
It’s strange. To wake already anxious, for no reason other than me being me.
Well, I suppose the world has a lot of worries. A blatant creep towards fascism here in the USA, environmental decline, and we are all mortal and getting old sucks and I haven’t won an Oscar or been on Broadway or crossed the Equator or blah blah blah.
So much to worry , fret about, complain and grieve about.
And I don’t want to diminish any of that. But I also don’t want to dwell on it, revel in it, be nothing but the blues.
I am alive. I am relatively healthy. I have friends, and family, and take walks. Even though it feels like the Land of the Nuts right now, living in the USA is like winning the lottery,, pretty amazing.
Maybe it’s just Monday, and I’m tired, and have a lot of shit to do.
Could be worse.
A lot of times, when I write these blogs, posts, whatever you want to call them, I feel like I should have some overarching message. I have no method to teach, no message to preach, other set plan for how to do anything, really. But I do have this need to express myself, to say, out loud or in print, that I have ideas, feelings, dreams, fears, observations.
And I always feel better after letting them out.
Like right now. I feel my Whelms evening out, calming down, settling into some sort of groove that I can handle. I woke up not ready to do anything but make coffee. Not I want to jump into Moon Jumper, the new script I’m working on. Also ready to go over the rough edit for Line Dance, the next short McSquared Productions has been making. And to go over Hadestown and Anastasia and Peter and the Starcather. And to read more. And to take a long walk around the neighborhood.
Okay.
I really need to get a grip. I just listed a bunch of shit to do that is awesome and fulfilling and fun. That’s my life. And I wake up anxious and afraid and down?
Is that just part of the deal? Even when things are going well, we find a way to worry? To question it all, to suspect that there has been a mistake and one day soon the powers that be will announce “Hold it! This guy is a joke, a fraud, and not what he pretends to be at all. We are taking it all back and now you will go work in the Salt Mines of Doom”.
I do think that will happen.
But even if a trip to the Salt Mines of Doom was on my dance card, what good would it do to worry? I should live it up while I can, gather rosebuds and memories in equal measure, and eat up each moment of my brief stint on this planet.
And now, it’s off to the races. Here’s a song. It’s Warren Zevon doing a cover of Steve Winwood’s Back in the High Life Again. It’s somber but also uplifting. Seems fitting.
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