This dispatch is essentially a lengthy endorsement of the famous phrase:
Okay let’s go.
I find existence can be experienced in cyclical sequences, ones we might not be aware of until we hit the same point on the circuit. When the simulation folds in on itself, the events mirror themselves to a sometimes eerie degree. I think being in the same city for your entire life can really escalate the chances of this occurring, but it can happen to anyone.
One of the first times this happened to me was in 2019. I was working at a restaurant and desperately trying to find work outside of the service industry. Through an old manager I found a job at a fancy spa where I was to become a receptionist and run the calendar, keep up with the inventory, the same old deal. At first I thought this would be the ticket out, but as the month long training wore on, I began to see cracks in the dream.
All employees were to enter from a tiny door hidden in the hedge, which shared an alley with the FIRST restaurant I ever worked for. Let’s call it Cabin House. Every morning I would wait to avoid Cabin House’s executive chef smoking on his break. Then I’d dart past the window that the prep cooks looked through as they washed little gem lettuce and sliced watermelon radishes. Describing my behavior as avoidant is an understatement. It wasn’t the people themselves, it was the place. I worked at Cabin House through a very difficult four years. I started as a hostess when I was 20, crying after 90% of my shifts (sometimes during, in the bathroom). Then I was promoted to office manager, which actually brought on more depression than hosting had, just less conflict with annoyingly affluent guests.
I spent a lot of time there trying to find a new job, but I was so full of pride that I pitched my hopes on lofty prospects that never panned out. I finally left when my dad became ill. I took a job at a new place, working nights as a server so I could take my dad to doctor appointments in the day.
Cabin House’s building represents so much angst for me, I still get spooked when I drive past it. Now I was walking past it, feigning chillness everyday. Something that I thought I could ignore became a red flag for a point of return. Suddenly it was as if I could see a circle curving the timeline of my life, connecting it in this moment.
I had a choice to make.
Why was I knowingly coming back to a place on the map that brought panic into my heart? For a job that I didn’t like? And didn’t pay me well enough to stifle said concerns???
I left the spa right after I completed my training. It was incredibly awkward. On my last shift I was supposed to label an herb garden with popsicle sticks but had to leave half the sprouts unnamed. My old manager who got me the job tried to pressure me into staying, using guilt as a tactic. Did I feel bad leaving them so early? Yes! But if I had stayed I would have become an integral part of their machine and departing when you're vital is actually way worse.
It was a moment where I broke the cycle, standing by the spidey senses that were at that point screaming inside my head at all moments of the day.
This week I hit another point of return. To make a long story short, last Monday (9/13) my mom broke her forearm in two places. She lost her grip on a new toe sock that she had tied to a door knob to stretch out (please no questions I don’t have answers).
My parents don’t have a car, so they called me for a ride. I was at Gabi’s birthday party and failed to pick up because my phone was being utilized for music. Instead of leaving a message or text to alert me, they decided to take a lyft. This was the first ping on the overlapping cycle, not the toe socks but the lack of communication when really important things happen.
When I finally got in touch with them, I left the party to pick my parents up from the emergency room. I thought I’d get there in the knick of time but Joey, my dad and I waited for 2 hours as they put my mom into a twilight sleep and moved her tiny bird bones around.
Leaving the birthday was difficult, considering Gabi is my dearest friend, I’d been part of the party preparation and after transitioning to a solitary work from home life, I’d looked forward to milking the socialization for all it was worth. Yet there was no hesitation, familial duty called.
It was when I left the party that my mind started working it’s magic, questioning why this happened to me. It’s a wonder how quickly the narration begins in these moments, weaving an intricate yarn that connects moments from years gone by with the previously unencumbered present.
Why now? my thoughts asked.
Maybe I didn’t deserve to have a good time with people because these fluke events happen to ME.
My thoughts dwelled on the friend who acknowledged my family’s past before I left. It was a kind remark but it actually made leaving more difficult because I worried that there was a PATTERN of my unworthiness of fun.
Perhaps everyone could see it but me.
This stuff happens and I become a spectacle of misfortune.
Why do I even try?
Even now, sharing these vulnerable thoughts makes me uncomfortable.
All of this was going through my mind as I drove the twenty minutes across town (no traffic at 12:30 AM on a Tuesday, incredible). Luckily after a few minutes of believing the voice in my head, I was able to go into observation mode, scooping the thoughts up with a butterfly net to view them truthfully.
Here’s where I find the real skill comes in: feeling the feelings in the moment, without attaching story to those emotions. As I skated through empty intersection after empty intersection, I continuously caught the fake stories in the butterfly net, while making space for my real feelings to present themselves. Doing this in real time felt almost athletic. Like, this should be considered as an olympic sport! In fact, if anyone is on the international olympic committee, please leave your contact info in the comments.
This exercise stopped once I pulled up to the hospital, as my focus shifted to the real life happening before my eyes. As the night wore on and exhaustion set in, everything sort of fell away.
A few days later my bf and I were in the mountains, taking a second to refresh after an intense and exciting month for both of us.
Another call from my parents gave me pause on the first night of the trip: my parent’s needed me to drive them to the Harbor county hospital in Torrance because my mom’s insurance network wasn’t set up locally. They could wait until I got back, but I’d have to go straight from the mountains to the hospital. Harbor UCLA is where I took my dad after his cancer diagnosis back in 2017.
He’d had an unsuccessful surgery and without health insurance, he was directed toward this hospital to be admitted into the medical system. We went there several times, it was just the beginning of a long path to finding him life saving care. I wrote a piece about it years ago on thought catalog but I reread it and it’s way too cringe to share now. Anyway the prospective return to this significant place set my brain up for another round of spiraling. The only reason why I didn’t fall head first into a tail spin was because I had just participated in vigorous round of thought olympics.
My bf and I wandered around the neighborhood after the sun set, sharing a joint and watching Joey inspect all the nooks and crannies of an unknown street. The roads were lit only by the moon, leaving lots of space for reflection in the absence of visual stimulation.
Instead of sinking into dread, anticipating the inevitable hospital visit, I utilized the high brain’s best strength, *~*analysis*~*.
I walked myself through the thought olympics that occurred on my crosstown drive, sorting through the steps to ensure I hadn’t repressed the emotions surrounding the event.
Was I disappointed? Yes. Was it weird? Yes.
But I hadn’t formed a narrative that supported an extended period of angst. Why?
As soon as we got back to the air bnb I ran to my computer, hoping to capture the lightning rod of illumination.
This is what I wrote before falling asleep on the couch:
attaching to the narrative
if you can control the minds attempt to form a narrative while in the moment, you’ll have less of one to replay after the fact
its like a chrysalis? time capsul or dome
Obviously the message needed some polishing.
I posted this on my instagram yesterday and I’ll share it again now:
Even when the timeline curls, overlapping and mirroring memories of old, there is always a separation between emotion and story.
By keeping them apart in the heat of the moment, narration cannot feed on the emotion. The stories can’t grow and multiply, they aren’t given the strength to unearth old feelings whenever it chooses.
So often we are led to believe that emotion must be enmeshed with story to be fully understood. In reality, story will warp emotion, especially with the passage of time.
Give yourself a chance to feel the feelings, watch them without judgement.
They might even be more willing to leave once they’ve been witnessed in earnest.
Okay that’s all for today. If you’ve made it this far, I hope this saga was helpful.
Also if you haven’t seen it, watch Arrival! I scrubbed through it with tears building in my eyes, hoping to finding a succinct screen grab for this piece. But it’s way too good to be collapsed into a single frame.
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xx,
James
also —
I have just a few more copies of my booklet, A Guide To Self-Guided Meditations. If you’d like to get one for yourself, click here