Most Days

 

Most of my days are mediocre,

going through a cycle of pre-planned routines,

relying on handy little coping mechanisms,

sneaking in predictable bad habits like eating a hidden stash of sweets or sleeping later than I should.

On most days,

there’s child-rearing,

tv-watching,

phone-talking,

errand-walking,

job-searching,

journal-writing,

food-prepping,

mortality-facing:

all the usual suspects.

And throughout it all, a feeling of boredom I have come to depend on

because boredom is better than being in a black hole.

 

On my best days,

I feel like singing.

I’ll imagine my life is a musical with a song and dance for every occasion,

and romance,

oh-so-much romance.

I let go of all my anxieties

and instead of feeling depleted,

I have so much love to give.

Wisdom and warm hugs abound.

On my best days,

I feel like my best self,

and I want so badly for that feeling to last.

I’ll read uplifting stories, listen to inspirational music, watch intelligent videos.

It’s not long, though,

before the monotony of life sets in again,

and the feeling of being free is gone.

 

Most days,

I won’t sing out of fear someone will hear me

and think I’m tuneless.

I won’t write or share my work for fear someone will read it

and find out I’m a fraud.

Most days,

I avoid difficult conversations and distressing confrontations.

I’ll wear the veneer of an optimist who’s got it all together –

a fulfilling family life, a successful professional life, even a peaceful spiritual life –

but in reality, I’ll steep myself in the negative,

the fatalistic,

the frightening.

Most days,

my mind is like an obstinate child who will not listen

as I try to guide it towards positivity and love.

However, the mind has a mind of its own, and,

when left unchecked,

has the power to seduce me into a black hole of my own making.

 

On my worst days,

my mind is like a dominating overlord who takes joy in my torture.

I feel invisible,

isolated,

ignored.

I am weak in the face of all those voices in my head that tell me I’m useless,

that I won’t amount to anything,

when actually, I’ve already amounted to so much,

that I’m lazy,

when actually, I’m scared,

that I’m talentless,

when actually, I’m the only person in the world

who knows how best to be me.

On my worst days,

I feel unloved,

and that is the worst feeling of all,

because if nobody loves me,

then what’s the point of my existence.

On my worst days,

I wish I could just disappear.

I forget that there is someone out there who loves me,

the same being that made me,

that deemed me worthy of creation

and a place among the cosmos.

I forget

that to some people

I am the whole world,

and to others,

I’m important,

though perhaps misunderstood.

I forget that the people around me aren’t all out to get me,

but are flawed themselves,

and just want to be accepted for who they are,

despite their quirks and occasional cruelties.

They have their own black holes to battle.

On my better days,

I realize all this,

and I see the world through the eyes of an observer, not a performer.

I sense the beauty all around me,

in the human capacity for kindness,

and the majestic presence of nature,

the miniscule place our planet occupies in the universe,

and my ability to forgive.

There is beauty in every moment,

if only we could feel it.

 

On my best days,

I don’t fully inhabit my body,

and float, rather than walk.

I feel at one with the universe

and allow my spirit to guide me,

come what may.

“Just try to enjoy the ride,”

I tell myself.

“Coast through calm waters,

navigate around the rocks,

hang on tight during waterfalls,

but be sure to soar through the skies

with eyes wide open.”

 

On my best days,

I feel like singing,

and so,

without giving it a second thought,

I do.

Why so Lovelorn?

Ever feel like shit? A rhetorical question, obviously, because we’ve all felt like shit at some point in our lives. Tired, overworked, under appreciated, not really feeling the love. As if, despite the number of loved ones we may have, there is no one we can honestly share our feelings with. That would mean making ourselves truly vulnerable. And what if the person we choose to share with doesn’t understand us? Or worse, doesn’t really care? Being vulnerable has only ever caused us pain, so better not to say anything, just to stay quiet. Except the problem is, we’re still boiling over with all these negative feelings, feeling drained by life, possibly even depressed. We feel unloved.

“Lovelorn” means feeling bereft of love. And to some extent, I think we all feel this way. We have moments of feeling unloved, whether it be by a parent, a partner, or even the Universe, in general. We feel unloved and perhaps even unworthy of love. We take desperate measures to get attention or try to change ourselves to please others. We do horrible things from the lack of love, and get the sense that being horrible is just who we are because no one ever told us otherwise. One of this world’s greatest superheroes, in my opinion, Fred Rogers, aptly summed it up when he said, ““Love is at the root of everything – all learning, all relationships – love, or the lack of it.” I cannot help but agree.

In a world of hyper awareness, of processing and re-processing the news of just how vicious mankind can be, where we feel increasingly isolated and alone, and like the worth of human life – indeed, even our own – is negligible, it is only natural to feel lovelorn.

I’m sure someone out there feels the same way I do, and it might help to know that you are not alone. The pain is real and, sometimes, torturous. Full disclosure: I suffer from depression. And even though I receive treatment for it, the pain never completely goes away. Maybe it’s not supposed to.

I believe that each of us is a part of something greater than all of us put together. I believe that we are not only loved, but also needed. I believe we each have special gifts we bring to the world, and we need to identify those gifts and share them. I believe all these things, and yet, have trouble remembering them because there’s always that constant nagging feeling within me, that feeling of not being worthy, of wasting my time in this world and not being productive enough. I start to think, if only I felt loved, things would be different. It becomes this vicious cycle then, where I try to chase love, never feel like I’m getting as much as I need, and so, keep searching for it. And instead of using my energy to fulfil my purpose in life, I’m wasting it on this futile quest.

Recently, I heard Sufi teacher, Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee, say, in a podcast episode of Oprah’s SuperSoul Conversations (yes, I listen to Oprah!), that this hunger we always feel, this emptiness, this longing for love, is really just a longing for the Beloved. For Sufis, the Beloved is God. I’m a pretty spiritual person, so I think there may be some truth to that.

But the fact remains, regardless of why we feel this longing, we feel it still, and it can be painful. This site is my attempt at sharing that pain. Who knows, maybe my purpose in life IS to share my pain. It doesn’t sound like a very glamorous or divinely inspired job, but, hey, what do I have to lose?