autumnalreverieblog

[autumnalreverieblog]

The Human Experience

I wrote in my diary once that I almost wish someone would read it without my knowledge. It seems obsolete to put all this work into recording my thoughts, hopes, etc only for it to decay once I'm gone.

Yet, because I've obviously put private and embarrassing things in there, if I knew that someone read it, I wouldn't be able to face them again.

But there is still a part of me that hopes someone has read it, or that they will one day. I have this theory that, if people can know and understand another's motivations, reasons, past experiences, then they understand the person better (duh). There would be less arguments, less fights, less miscommunication. In the minor situations I mean, I don't apply this to how wars begin or anything.

I grew up in a family with a lot of fighting and arguments. I'm not sure how much more compared to the average experience, but I'm quite confident it was too much. We fought because one sister bothered the other. We fought mum because we didn't want to go to school. We fought our stepdad because we were bored, or because we felt wronged in some way. Many, if not most, of our fights were parents' vs children because of housework, or the lack of help with it. I had meltdowns because I felt mum didn't want to spend time with me, which hurt on a deep level.

There is no shortage of the things we've fought about, and no way to know what the longest time we went without an argument to some degree is. If I had to guess, maybe 10 days. 14 at most, being generous. We fought about very minor things, and no less often about things that matter.

There were a lot of emotions involved. I am an emotional person; I feel everything to the nth degree. Maybe this is why I feel that the chaos of all the fighting I grew up in has left such a mark on me now. The harsh words, the cruel tones, the faces pulled, can cause such a physical feeling of distress, fight or flight, pure rage, heartache, that I physically don't know how to control myself. I would scream, cry, speak heinous and cruel words, self-harm, to try to alleviate my emotional pain.

On a scale of depression, neutral and manic, I could go from neutral to manic in record speed.

The same applies to positive emotions also. My joys, my happiest highs, excitements, can feel supernatural too. When I was younger and looking forward to something, say an upcoming holiday or Christmas, I took myself for sprints until I was puffed and could run no more. Even afterwards I was still buzzing, only feeling less like I would combust from all the exhilaration in my body.

It's probably the closest to being high on drugs I can imagine. Now I have the same feeling when I'm out running, listening to the perfect speedy heavy metal song and totally happy with my life. Pure, unblemished ecstasy powering me to run long and fast.

So much emotion, to such an extent that it feels like it takes over. Am I an emotionally driven person? Likely.

I suppose there's the benefits and drawbacks to that. I certainly must take responsibility for my downright wickedness in moments of anger. However I love that I can feel so overcome by happiness sometimes that I can run for days on that adreniline high.

I made up some totally stupid (read: unscientific) scale to measure this when I was chatting with my sister a few nights ago; the aforementioned depressed, neutral and manic scale. If I am naturally inclined to some degree of mania, my guess is that she is drawn to depression.

I cannot tell you if this is natural for her or if she's been conditioned to it. I admittedly was the star of the show between us. My emotions came first. I had to be kept neutral otherwise my parents would have to help this out of control, upset kid. I wonder if even now I still think I should come first partly due to this reason? I say this to my own shame.

If I was the main character, my quiet and unobtrusive sister would be the supporting role. The easy to ignore, reliable one. She's grown up to be independent and self-reliant. I can list how this is both helpful and harmful for her.

So whether by nature or nurture, she falls on the depressed side of the scale. Depressed, not meaning a state of sadness but rather numbness. A more muted sense of feelings. A quieter joy. A brewing anger, not an instant rage.

While I embrace the help of others and readily share all aspects of my life with them, she keeps to herself.

While that bothers me sometimes (though it shouldn't), it also makes her all the more interesting to me. Such lack of output makes me want to know what is going on. What are her motivations, reasons, past experiences shaping the way she thinks?

She intrigues me this way, but not as much as mum does. I don't know my life without my sister, so though I have gaps in my knowledge, given our close relationship and shared upbringing, I can deductively reason and guess what I don't know.

Mum had a whole life full of experiences prior to my being able to comprehend the world around me. What did she do before me? What was the order of events? Why did you work there, how did you meet him, what did you think about this? What has shaped your way of thinking? I have the longest list of things I want to know about the person who raised me and has shown me more unconditional love than anyone. Yet for whatever reason, she mostly has shut her past life and important opinions off to questions. I hope I can learn all this one day.

Do I say all this to conclude that those who keep quiet are more interesting people? By no means. I know I'm an interesting person, especially when I think about the things I did in the first years of my twenties. People would eat. that. up.

I work with someone who seemingly needs to keep talking just to stay alive. I think she's awesome, and though I know so much already, I am dead certain that she's only scratched the surface of things to say. There's heaps to know.

I read a quote the other day,

"A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.'

-Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.

Any person you talk to can tell you about their life and inner thoughts and I guarantee you will not be bored. Even a child will say something that is interesting and different to every other person.

Biographies are popular because we enjoy reading about the human experience. Often it is only the extraordinary stories that make it into bestselling books, however I strongly believe that if a writer were to interview any random off the street, that person's life story would enthral you. We are most interesting to each other.

So having said all this, if only we knew more about one other! After so many of the arguments and fights I grew up with, especially those caused by miscommunication or misunderstanding, I remember lamenting that no one understood. If only I knew that my mother's distress about the undone dishes stemmed from her anxiety of being a failure. If only my sister would've realised the reason I wanted her to join me in an activity was so we could have a timeless memory together, she would choose than over routine YouTube viewing.

I've written mostly in terms of my experience as a child. As an adult now, things are better. I can interpret people's body language for clues to their reasoning. I have experience behind me, and I know my loved ones more.

Yet so much remains a mystery. I understand why we keep so much to ourselves. Sharing is vulnerable. That's why I won't be handing anyone my diary or Tumblr link any time soon. But should they stumble upon it, be curious and have a read, they'll understand me that bit more. Isn't that what we all crave, to be understood? To know more about those we share our lives with? So, this is my permission to read my diary. Just don't tell me.

[autumnalreverieblog]

Comfort in the Uncomfortable

I am aware of two things since becoming an adult- what makes me comfortable, & how to enjoy the uncomfortable.

What makes me comfortable is routine, cleanliness and warmth. I strive for these things daily.

Every morning looks the same. Fight the desire to stay asleep, crawl from bed to bathroom and pee. Put on work clothes, brush teeth, hair, put on makeup. Before I walk out the door, I verbalise my checklist, often more than twice.

'Hair brushed, teeth brushed, deodorant on. Shoes, socks, uniform, jumper. Glasses, phone, wallet, keys. Makeup, lipstick, necklace, perfume, badge, headphones.'

My family can nearly recite it too. I have had the same list since mid-high school, altering it slightly depending on what job I'm now working.

Some of the items seem silly. I admit the socks is probably unnecessary. However, the quick reminder of deodorant has saved me more than once when my routine has been disrupted and a step has been missed.

My routine is comfortable because it means I need not worry that I've forgotten any of those things once I'm gone; I think of them no more.

Personal grooming and cleanliness are related to my routine. I have my regular hair washing schedule, shaving, waxing and tinting. All the things a female needs to be presentable to the public. Cleanliness is a core value of mine, as my comfort relies heavily on it.

I cannot stand my own sticky skin, greasy hair, prickly legs. I have learned that I'm happier to sacrifice an extra hour for a late hair wash one night than to go without the next day and feel like a grot; a rat who appeared from the sewer.

Finally, warmth. Another core tenant in my need for comfort. The most environmentally painful part of a day for me is a cold winter morning. Awake before the sun and ripped from warm sheets into an icy morning makes me feel sick.

I love the warm embrace of a Queensland summer, and the early sunrise. I love joyful, hot summers.

I do believe that comfort is a criminally undervalued aspect of life. Obviously, as you know I'm about to say, it is not of first importance, it does not come before our main priorities, it cannot always be expected to be achieved. However, in moments and seasons when comfort can be regularly experienced, it increases one's joy and quality of life. Happy people are productive people, happy people are healthy people. We can survive without it but let's aim for more than mere survival- let's thrive.

Comforts are a gift from the LORD, which brings me to my next point.

I am more aware of how to be uncomfortable.

As an older teen and young twenty-year-old, I remember going through a season of learning what I liked, what made me comfortable. In that process, I was able to identify what I hated.

So, in part two of my self-discovery, I learned to better manage myself in unideal situations. Granted, I still have much to go.

My aversion to bleak July mornings is now combated by playing a mental game. Play pretends. In our world of tik tok and an endless stream of "Day in my Life" videos, it's easy to imagine myself as a different person who enjoys the things I avoid. Instead of a shivering Queenslander, I am a numb Slav who is used to brutalism and bitter chill. I eagerly wait for my black coffee.

Offensive? I've just realised it probably is, but I certainly don't mean for it to be. By all means, if you need to pretend to be a 23 year old Queenslander who loves the heat, go for it.

To dig my hole further, and build on my point, how I have learned to embrace the uncomfortable is by romanticising what I am doing. Taking all the unpleasantness away by entering a state of reverie and pretending that what I am doing is part of a beautiful story.

I lovingly fold my laundry like an 1800's prairie homemaker. I pour my coke into a glass like I'm a refined aristocrat. Rather than be stressed because my house was left as a mess, I'll embrace the cosiness of a lived in space and enjoy the housework later.

I write a silly piece for tumblr like I actually have something important to say.

It's not about doing things perfectly. It's about making the most of what we have and doing the best with what we've got. Finding our daily comforts and embracing the discomforts.