Do you get like that? That everyone out there is busy and living. I don’t understand why I feel like such a shell all the time. Is it normal to feel so empty so often? Even when I’m not depressed, it’s like my life is a room with too little furniture. Does that make sense? Is this just what it’s like to be Bipolar or depressed or an artist?
I am in a city that felt like home within 24 hours. When you know, you know. And now I have been here for three weeks wondering how the days collected like dust.
I’ve been out for a few coffees and sometimes I wander through the shops but that is the extent of my life. I spend my days watching TV and trying to motivate myself to, you know, live. And then I stay up at night, anxious that I’m wasting my life, scared I will look back on my youth and wonder why I didn’t spend more time being young.
Today was a good day though. It’s amazing when you think about it. I didn’t do anything special. I just sat in the garden and wrote a few letters and did some laundry. What I mean to say is, it’s amazing how little we need to feel alive: fresh air and non-zombifying activities.
I was out for lunch last week with some friends of my mother’s. We stumbled across a charming vegan pop-up type shop called Lentil As Anything. I’m always excited by vegan eateries because I can choose anything on the menu without a second thought. I chose curry. He chose daal. She didn’t choose anything.
We chose a table indoors, sheltered form the sun, and admired the plain potpourri decor. It was colourful and rustic. Personality sans pretension. We started talking about various abstract concepts and I told them about me and the sky.
What about me and the sky? Well, last year I realised that I was all about the sky. I am always looking up, day or night and I feel like I am a moonchild. I feel like the sky is my garden, if that makes sense.
And then I told them about my fear of the ocean and how that made me think of the elements as realms. Those being: ocean: depth, beneath the subconscious, and earth: reality, grounded, and then the sky, the air: dreams and delusion and emotion.
Then I realised that my zodiac, Aquarius, is an air sign, and my initials spell out AER, and all this is utterly me: airy, elusive, dreamy. And it made sense that I didn’t feel at home on the ground and why the ocean scares me. The ocean is heavy. There is no freedom for humans in water. It is not our world. This is evident even with vision; underwater, you can only see only what is very near to you, what the ocean allows you to see; on land, you can see as far as your vision allows which follows logic, but in the sky, you can see for miles and miles (weather permitting). There is freedom in the sky.
I was telling them all this and she looked me, a bit taken back, I think, and said, “How on earth did you come to that conclusion?”
And I said, “It’s just what I think about. Don’t you” I assumed that most people thought like this; that most thoughts looped in and out of each other like graceful knots.
She laughed and said, “No! Never!”
We (me and him) talked about energy and mediation. He told me it was about controlling your thoughts as mine scattered and jumped, tumbling into words that interrupted him. She listened on. She couldn’t quite grasp the concepts. I told her it was okay, that she was earth, and that all elements are necessary. The earth people would dry out without the sky dreamers, and the sky dreamers would float off without the water babies, and so on.
When it was time to go, we discovered that there were no prices; payment was at the discretion of the customer. Suddenly the memory of the average food became much sweeter. It was the energy of places like this that seduced me here, I’m sure. The energy of a city that is thriving, evolving, creative, alive. I think (I hope) that with each day I venture into Melbourne, the thousands of windows embedded in my skin will open one by one until light is pouring in and out of me freely. And then I won’t wonder all the time: how do most people think? Why is my mind such a mosaic? Why are simpler people happier? And, most importantly, why does my inquisitive, artistic mind act like the ocean when I want (need) to soar?