Driving
I remember I used to drive into the night looking for something… or anything at least. Synth music made me think there was some invisible string pulling me toward something. Something emotional. Something deeply connected to me. Someone that I would die for because I didn't want to be anywhere else.
I’d drive home with an empty tank of gas.
I remember biking away from my city to find something, someone, anything. My legs numbed and my emotions did too. I'd pump synth music to rekindle my emotions, but they quickly ran dry. The invisible string pulling me to something I desperately wanted eventually drove me further away from reality. There was nothing for me in reality, so I quickly delved inside my head. There were no emotions left for me to feel in reality. I engraved a smile on my face but it didn’t reflect inside; not a sadness, but an emptiness.
I remember boating into the night, into new bays. To discover someone. I remember the emotional music and wind through my hair quickly sounded like noise.
The countless hours spent looking. And who can blame me? I didn’t have it. I was in the wrong place. Looking for so long and coming back empty has to be not only hard, but forming. It was like the phenomenon of learned helplessness. But instead, learned numbness. I was never helpless, my emotions just began to escape reality, and their colors drifted away from me. I continued looking, but without beautiful ups and downs.
I came to Austin and finally saw colors. It was like my emotions had run off, and I was finally catching up to them. Like putting my hand into a computer as it turns to a hologram. In a good way.
I stopped driving into the night because I had what I was looking for.
I’m now left wondering if that invisible string that I used to believe in still exists. As things here change, and those colors I discovered change hue, my mind wonders if there’s some deep surprise in the cosmos, in human nature, in more than I can understand. Some surprise that will change me.
I don’t think so. But I also don’t think it’s necessary. My mind is more rooted in reality now, so I don't have to dream of some invisible string. Reality is surprising enough. I can lay back, surrender, (maybe take shrooms), and discover things I had never noticed. I don't know if this is the same as the invisible strings I had hoped for early on, but I guess the whole point of an invisible string is that you could never have guessed what it looks like.
I don’t have to drive into the night anymore, and thank god that’s over.
If I’m empty these days, it’s only because I’m temporarily drained. Not numb.
I can feel emotions sparkle on my fingertips. Not as bright as I would love, but at least they’re here. And I’m thankful for that. Thankful for my life. Thankful for the surprises in it. Thankful that I have no idea how complex the cosmos are, and that reality is an illusion. That my body can heal, and change, and form. Just like a houseplant that finally gets a window.