Why, then?

Why is it that when one reads about someone dying, too young, too special, too unique, too marvelous, too influential, the kind of person who makes you laugh louder and breath deeper and hug more fiercely - why is it that this story crushes me? Makes me so profoundly aware of how un-alive I am, even now?

The sensation of wading through high thigh deep water - that's my life. That's all I am doing. I am going through the motions, most of the time, of living a life but I'm not really, truly living a life. I'm just alive, kinda sorta. Thousands upon thousands of dollars of therapy - even really good therapy - makes me more aware of the lack. Makes me go, "oh, gee" when I have some moments of connection and joy, thinking how much I like this, want more, want life to be like this always.

But what the hell blocks me, then? What? Why does the pervading wisdom cling so tightly to ugh, blah, boring, stasis all the time?

I am so angry, really, about "my life," and I will chalk it up in part to that. Angry about where I live. Angry about giving up things I love. Angry about surroundings that I don't nestle in to. Angry about feeling alone, disconnected, lost, not at home. Angry. Profoundly sad, too, but mostly, seething with a quiet anger that I just do. not. let. out. Ever. Well, maybe once in a great while, when alone in my car, it seethes slowly to the surface and then explodes out with such ferocity I scare myself. I can shout like that? Who knew.

But I wasn't always this way, was I? Tendency toward depression, awkwardness, disconnect? Well sure, yeah. But sad, dozed out, neutral, not alive? Not really, no. I had some zest in Vermont, I know I did. I know it's not all rosey memory. Some of that emotion, that remembrance, is real. I had some spunk, some spark. I shook my butt down State Street with the girls. And I loved it. Shyly, but loved it. And I spoke up, spoke out, spoke my mind. Had people, had places to go, routines, things I liked, things I loved. Community, of sorts.

It is so, so past time to get the hell out of here. Here where I don't belong. Here where I don't fit in. Here where I'm barely alive. Here where I have no friends. Here where my passion is squelched. Here where the greatest truths of myself are slapped aside time and again and the core of me is ignored and unacknowledged.

Go forward, they say. I sure want to. I want to live. More importantly, I want to LIVE. To live my life, to be alive and flourishing, to be smiling, to enjoy the day to day dance with the universe. Not this wading through ocean waste of time waste of life nonsense. I want to have a spark again.

I don't want to fade away never having lived well. Never having mattered. I want to live a life that makes people say, she lived well. Not in a superficial way, but in a way that matters - that helps the community, that shares love with others, that cares, that nurtures, that gives, that sparkles.

I need, so desperately, to wake up and come alive and just be. Be here. A here of my own design, a here where I belong, a here where I have a community, where I can count and share and make a difference and joyously LIVE.