Hot, cold, self-indulgent as fuck (Week 29: Fire and Ice)

i

I’m in Denver, Colorado this week—fire and ice—when I’m outside, the sun beats down on me and threatens to melt me down into a pool of biomass, human goo—when I’m inside, the air conditioning freezes and shatters my atoms—I am not a body but a collection of icicle shards.

You: Are you having a good time?

I don’t know.

I think, after I leave, I will tell you—Yes! I’ve had fun. Right now—I am glad I’m here. I want to be here. It’s important to be here. But am I having a good time?

I don’t know about that.

ii

I’m away from my fam this week and I miss them—don’t miss them.  I don’t miss them in the mornings when I can be utterly selfish and just about me and do all my own things. I miss them at bedtime for a while—nobody to give goodnight kisses to, however will I sleep?—but then crawl into bed when I please as I please, knowing no one will wake me up in the night—yes. It be heaven, just a little taste of heaven, my darlings.

I love you, my darlings. But I am treasuring these slices of solitude.

iii

Busy-not-busy, tired-not-tired, missing-not-missing, what do people want? People want to be loved and understood. They want to belong.  They want to be part of something greater than themselves; among them, a few also want to contribute to this thing greater than themselves.

Most basic needs, those.

Moses gave them stone tablets and a codified religion.

What am I giving them?

(Don’t worry, I’m too lazy to start a new religion. But everything boils down to this, really: people want to be loved, understood, to feel they belong… to have a chance to contribute—often in as small and effortless way as possible—to THE THING. Wait. That gives me an idea…)

iv

Busy-not-busy-busy-not-busy. Do I want it this much? I don’t know. Not at any price.

v

I’m meeting dozens, possibly hundreds, of people every day. I’m listening. Trying not to talk too much but to really listen. Look for seeds, beginnings. Try to figure out—what will I nurture when I get back home? How do I choose?

You: I thought your motto was “why choose.”

Jane: You always have to choose. Something.

Sometimes, I panic. Today, I won’t.

vi

So many ideas. Not enough time. But that’s not true. I have all the time there is—I have all the time I need—I have everything I need, and when I don’t have something, I ask for it.

vii

I’m home.

Post-conference crash.

Thinking about radical honesty and radical compassion—I’ll tell you about it later. Missing strangers. Reluctant to see friends. So much to do.

I have all the time I need.

Breathe.

xoxo

“Jane”

PS

You: Self-indulgent as fuck.

Jane: And that, my love, is the beauty of a not-for-profit blog.

2018

The year started with a Monday; so does every week (Week 1: Transitions and Intentions)

Easier than you think, harder than I expected: a week in eleven stanzas (Week 2: Goodness and Selfishness)

A moody story (Week 3: Ebb and Flow)

Do it full out (Week 4: Passions and Outcomes)

The Buddha was a psychopath and other heresies (Week 5: No Cohesion)

A good week (Week 6: Execute, Regroup)

Killing it (Week 7: Exhaustion and Adrenaline)

Tired, petty, tired, unimportant (Week 8: Disappointment and Perseverance)

Professionals do it like this: [insert key scene here] (Week 9: Battle, Fatigue, Reward)

Reading Nabokov, crying, whining, regrouping (Week 10: Tears and Dreams)

Shake the Disease (Week 11: Sickness and Health… well, mostly sickness)

Cremation, not embalming, but I think I might live after all (Week 12: Angst and Gratitude)

Let’s pretend it all does have meaning (Week 13: Convalescence and Rebirth)

The cage is will, the lock is discipline (Week 14: Up and Down)

My negotiated self thinks you don’t exist–wanna make something of it? (Week 15: Priorities and Opportunity)

An introvert’s submission + radical prioritization in action, also pouting (Week 16: Ruthless and Weepy)

It’s about a radical, sustainable rhythm (Week 17: Sprinting and Napping)

It was a pickle juice waterfall but no bread was really harmed in the process (Week 18: Happy and Sad)

You probably shouldn’t call your teacher bad names, but sometimes, your mother must (Week 19: Excitement and Exhaustion)

Tell me I’m beautiful and feed me cherries (Week 20: Excitement and Exhaustion II)

A very short post about miracles, censorship, change: Week 21 (Transitions and Celebrations)

Time flies, and so does butter (Week 22: Remembering and forgetting)

I love you, I want you, I need you, I can’t find you (Week 23: Work and Rest)

You don’t understand—you can’t treat my father’s daughter this way (Week 24: Fathers and Daughters)

The summer was… SULTRY (Week 25: Gratitude and Collapse)

It’s like rest but not really (Week 26: Meandering and Reflection)

It’s the wrong question (Week 27: Success and Failure)

On not meditating but meditating anyway, and a cameo from John Keats (Week 28: Busy and Resting)

—->>>POSTCARDS FROM CUBA

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21 thoughts on “Hot, cold, self-indulgent as fuck (Week 29: Fire and Ice)

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