Happy New Year. Sorry for a bit of radio silence there.
This is how my brain feels. Blurry, and a little dark in the haze of the New Year, yet lit by a persistent sun. I am eighteen days jet-lagged, and I feel like shit, as I have for eighteen days, and I am tired of it. I want things to change. I want people to change. I want to feel better. I want to be better.
I’ll tell you what, it’s exhausting to be exhausted. I highly recommend against two-way, nine-hour time changes, coupled with family Christmas, major event planning, and the New Year, in a two-week time period. But then again, maybe I will recommend it, but with a fat #beforewarned.
The thing about true exhaustion is that it doesn’t let up. When you have no energy left–you don’t know what time it is, what country you’re in, or what language to speak, and your whole body is shaking from the confusion–and you still have to keep going; well, you can learn a lot about what goes on underneath the daily trill of who you think you are. Where you hang your hopes, where you seek respite, where you place blame. You can get all wrapped-up in a deep artistic righteousness or even a deep artistic altruism. You can overflow with love and overflow with need. You can set yourself apart and you can melt into a group. You can wish with all your heart that all of your recourse will free you from having to do it all again the next day and the next day and the next day.
But it won’t. Because this is life. And it’s exhausting. All the time, even if the toll becomes more notable when travel makes you lose your sense of time. But it’s also okay. Because it’s rich. And it strengthens us. And softens us. And makes us ready to be here. All the time. Because we are here, all the time.