Here's What I Know

I have no idea.

I haven't a singular clue.

Zero inklings.

I don't know what I know. About life, that is. This big, unexplainable, can't-fit-in-a-shoebox or the entire ocean, constantly changing, intangible thing that we all seem to be doing on a regular basis.

You would think that after 30 years of doing the thing, you'd get some hints. And perhaps there are some big ones that I've picked up on - like, more substantial than looking both ways before crossing the street. But even so, it's like, "what in the hell is going on" sort of vibes nearly 24/7.

For a long time, I looked at life as something to figure out, something to master. If only I could figure out the right formula, solve for X, all of the pieces would click. Harmony would be heard and felt. This would all make sense. Huge waves of anxiety? Gone. Existential crises? Evaporated. That physical heaviness in your chest when thinking about the future, or the past? Destroyed by my mastery of the true understanding and meaning of life.

Lately, though, I have come to realize that not only will I never discover the formula, there may not even be a formula to figure out in the first place. I now know that not knowing is kind of the only thing I'll ever know, you know?

Like maybe I feel like I have no idea what I am doing a good 75-80% of the time, and maybe that's just fine. Maybe that's normal, or at least not uncommon. Maybe that's part of this lived experience we are sharing.

What I do know is that I feel that life is a series of moments strung together. Some of them are gnarly, others are so delicate that even the slightest breeze would make an impact. No one moment lasts forever - for better or worse. They come, they go, they live, they feel. They mean something.

I recently took a solo trip to Ireland for a week. The journey was indeed a series of moments - some so close to perfection that I wanted to cry, others that were much less favorable. But the moments - they were mine. I took such good care of myself, or at least that was my intention. I barely planned for trip beforehand, and I truly knew very little about what the week would look like.

There were moments of overwhelm, but they were surprisingly brief. For someone who often feels like a walking temple of panic, traveling in Ireland was a welcomed respite from my brain's normal overstimulation in my day-to-day environment. I was able to focus on the essentials much easier -"Okay, Helana, let's buy a sweater because you're cold." "Yes, you should cross the street if you don't like the vibe." "No, a brownie doesn't count as lunch. Two brownies, maybe."

I knew hardly nothing about the cities I visited, and I knew no one, save for a mutual friend that I met for the first time in Galway. But somehow, I knew a lot more than I realized. I had moments of hearing my intuition; she knew all along - I just wasn't listening well.

That's cheesy.

In any case, I don't really know much but I feel like maybe I know a lot and also probably not a ton but somewhere in the middle of it all I am living this life and it's a beautifully chaotic experience that doesn't have a pause button and maybe that means we need to create moments of rest and life is scary but it's worth it and this is a very long run-on sentence but do you get what I'm saying? If you do, let me know.

I don't know what else to say, other than this - I see you. I feel your confusion and uncertainty. I think you're lovely. Go to Ireland.

Hugs,

H