On Defining Myself

It is so strange the way my heartstings waltz with one another... I can be exhausted, hungry, lonely, (which I not really ever, but whatever...) PMS-ing, not feeling well, hurt, frustrated, angry, even grieving and my emotions are fairly constant. While I might be a bit moody, less touchy, needing time to myself for no apparent reason, or less motivated (even sometimes more self-centered), I'm good at being stable, containing whatever feeling it is to whatever in my life they are due and not allowing them to carry over. Even on 2 hours of sleep, should someone greet me with a friendly, "hey KP how are ya?" I'd in all likelihood reply with a "pretty good. tired, but good." And while I'd spend the day trying desperately to keep my eyes open, my attention focused, and slightly less willing to stand up for things that I know are going to require energy in large quantities, I'm still, overall, good.

But when I get restless (ok, I'm always restless), I can't control it. The mood swings are violent and unpredictable. One day can be good for no apparent reason and the next day miserable even though I was treated with all the due courtesies (plus some) that are "due". I'm well slept and well fed and not stressed, but even hour to hour, I can find myself feeling relatively good, and then like I want to crawl in a hole and die. I don't understand how that one emotion can tinker with every other one of my emotions, how that singular discontent in my life can lead to so much stress and anxiety and hunger and powerful, powerful things. Pulling that one heartstring makes all my other heartstings dance and leap like puppets in an uncoordinated, slightly violent and choppy rendition of an urban interpretive dance of a breaking heart. Like new, jagged earthen peaks rising from the ground to the heavens in a majestic salute to the raw, unabashed glory of these imperfect molten creations.

It is interesting that in nature such sights are full of awe and splendor and inspiration and overwhelming power and beauty. Yet in our own lives, in our own hearts and souls, we cannot accept these grand and imperfect mountain scenes, but rather we prefer the worn, loping hills of rolling grasses and grazing flocks. But how is it that those hills were formed? How can there be peaceful rolling hills if the weren't first giant, gaping, violent mountains. Do we get to pick which we want? Or must we begin with the land, the life we've been given, and should we choose to, wear down these restless mountains into rolling plains?

Much as i hate this feeling, these crazy mood swings and the violent peaks of my heart, I don't know that I want anything different. Which puts me in quite the conundrum - there's this blessing that feels like a curse, that creates discomfort and pain and hardship and man other things. It's difficult to reconcile the suffering it causes for me and more importantly for those around me with the joy and relief it can bring. It is Love that both drives me and hinders me, that causes as much pain as happiness and yet I cannot stop myself from loving - from loving EVERYONE. I try not to, i try to tell myself that sometimes it's not worth it, that I can't possibly meet and know and love all 7 billion people on this planet, so I may as well not try, but why not? Why should I put forth such effort to become someone other than the someone I was created to be? So what if I fall in Love too easily? So what if my heart yearns for things it may never have, if my hearts breaks more often than it becomes whole? What if I feel whole by being broken? What if my place in this world is to always be searching for my place? What do i do then? What do other people do with me? How do I wrestle with restlessness when the restlessness forces me into these patterns which I yearn for?

There are many things that I am, but few that truly define me - restlessness is, for me, at the core of why I am. Perhaps it yanks on my heartstings the way it does not because it is a string that is attached to the others, but because it IS my heart. It is the driving force that keeps me alive, that courses blood through my veins and resurrects my soul from the depths of apathy. And although very seriously doubt I will be able to come anywhere near meeting, knowing, and loving everyone, I do not think, even through all the discouragement that this will stop me from knowing and loving every person I meet. I do not know that I could ever stop without dying because this part of me simply IS. And when something simply is, there's no fighting it.