basket case.

Sometimes something weighs so heavily on your heart you actually feel like you're sinking. And all the things that used to keep you afloat, gliding through your sunny little life, find themselves stuck in giant tar bubbles. Impenetrable. Toxic. Sometimes the world seems to grind to a halt while you're sitting in your car. Savoring the last five minutes before you have to go into work, sipping hot Chai, windows down, you close your eyes.

Of course the one thing that should flash before you is the one thing you shouldn't be imagining at all. But there it is. This blinking reminder that you are in fact human. You're vulnerable, emotional, complex. You crave connection. You are human. Yet all you want in this moment and in every collection of moments to follow throughout the day, is to feel anything but this. To think of anything but... this thing.

Why do we dwell? Is this a female thing? Or a human being thing? Why do we fixate on people or situations or circumstances we cannot change? That ultimately leave us feeling the dark pieces: the sadness, the anger, the disappointment. Why is that easier to embrace and sit with than the good stuff? Or maybe it's just our heightened awareness being forced to face what's left after the good goes awry. After we find ourselves holding the pieces of our hearts like a broken mirror, unable to properly reflect.

You sit there, staring into empty hands, feeling like you're not even allowed to be here. You're not allowed to grieve the loss of something you never really had to begin with. And then you snap out of it and think, 'why the hell am I so upset?'

I cried this morning. I mean, really cried. The kind of cry I'd been holding onto for months. It was building upon missing loved ones, the illness of a dear friend, the stress of my life, and my disappointed little heart. I cried. And I mean sobbed. The kind of cry that spanned a significant amount of the morning, enough to ruin my coveted cup of coffee and a hot shower. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed. I'm vulnerable and sensitive. I am a Cancer after all. And sometimes you need to cry. Sometimes you need to feel to the depths and allow yourself to be where ever you are.

Sometimes you get to mourn the loss of the thing you nearly had. Of the thing you want. Because at least there, you know you've found something of worth. That thing you shouldn't be thinking about is clearly significant and beautiful. And maybe in time it will get a little easier to be without it. Or maybe in time, you'll find a way to have it.

Either way, you'll eventually let yourself believe that being vulnerable and putting yourself out there wasn't for nothing. It was worth it just to know you were capable of feeling something real. Something reciprocated. Even if unattainable. Even if only wrapped up in a collections of hours, of conversations and exchanged smiles, of feeling connected, and understood, and appreciated in the simplest of ways... at least that was real.

I know it's vague and highly internal. But there it is. At least this time I put it down here. I let it be real. I didn't bury it deep or attempt to hide the true feelings. Maybe that's a step in the right direction. And maybe if you're out there reading this, you can know that I think there's something here. And maybe if we're both lucky, we can get that illusive thing everyone's searching for. Because as far as I'm concerned, it's been right in front of me for some time. I found it. Now I just have to wait until the universe will let me have it.

So until then, I'll sip Chai, roll the windows down, sob from time to time, and keep on living my little life. I think that's the best chance I've got.

(Side Note)

A few weeks back my friend Shea shared this video of a talk with researcher Brene Brown. She's an amazing woman with a beautiful take on vulnerability and our need for human connection. I think this is an appropriate post in which to share. Check it out if you haven't already:

http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html