I went to Lakeside Park today. I sat on a bench facing the water just opposite of a group of waterfowl. There were little ducks perched all in a cluster facing the geese who were not sitting but kind of walking back and forth as though leading some sort of time-share seminar or Sunday School Class. When I sat down, they all sort of turned to look at me like I wasn't invited to the meeting but I sipped my coffee and watched as they ignored me and went about their business.
My brain has been scrambled for the past several weeks and it's all catching up to me. The second I woke up, I knew that I just needed to get out of my house. I needed to be out of my house and breathing some fresh air and soaking in sunshine and generally just being alone--somewhere else. I needed some sort of church. So I got a coffee and I sat cross-legged on a picnic table and breathed deeply and watched the ducks watch the geese and I listened to wind and I tried to evaluate my life. But I couldn't because I don't know what I want. I don't know what I don't want. I don't know what I need. So mostly I just sat there not thinking of anything.
I feel like I'm scared of a lot of things that other people fall into without any effort whatsoever. But I have been actively choosing to do things that are intimidating or relatively dangerous (nothing life-threatening) because I don't want to look back and say, "I never went swimming in a public pool because I'm grossed out by the thought of my own thighs even when I'm alone in my apartment." Or, "I never sang karaoke because what if I accidentally sang off key." Or, "I never let anybody hold my heart because I was scared they would drop it because it's getting heavy." So I have been actively going against my natural impulses. Sometimes it's the hardest thing for my body to do but exactly what my brain requires and so I go against my impulses. Every single ounce of instinct is saying, "get the fuck out of here" but the brain is saying "you can't go, this is good for us." And it is. But the thing about jumping is that you land every time. And sometimes you break something.
Two little kids and their grandma were walking up the path at the park. The ducks turned around to look at them only they didn't return to their business because the kids started throwing bread into the water. Without even a second's hesitation they all got in the water. The ducks with their vibrant colors and slim bodies flew and glided in with grace and started snacking on the bread pieces. The geese, though, waddled to the edge of the water and plopped themselves in like dumplings into soup. They swam over to the children and had their fill of bread as well.
And in the end, everyone got to eat.
And today, I'm going to the pool.