01-24-19

At Mill Point Bookstore and Cafe.

I continue to wrestle with being here, in Australia. Every morning I wake up with dread of what the day will bring, and that, of course, is nothing that one should wake up feeling, but that feeling is just a response to not giving a damn about why I’m here, and not wanting to be here in the first place. Being in Australia certainly isn’t even “bad”, but I think somewhere in the being here but not wanting to be here is the sense of lacking control of my life, and so I’m despondent, grumpy, and generally unhappy. The irony of this is that I don’t believe that anyone has control over his/her life. That doesn’t simply mean that we’re all just tossed around by the wind like so many falling leaves; it just means that the notion of there being a controller somewhere inside of us (in our heart or in our head) is faulty and doesn’t stand up to logical examination. So then, why should this feeling of out-of-controlness bother me? Well, that may not even be the case. It could be just as simple as I’m not invested in this thing, I don’t want to be a part of it (at least in this capacity), I’m not the least bit curious about Australia, but there’s no easy way out, even if I didn’t mind paying Doug back the money for the air fare. He thinks he needs me, though I think he’s wrong about that because I don’t feel like I’m doing much, and once Ben gets here he’ll be doing the lion’s share as he truly does want to be here and is enthusiastic about the project. We’re very different personalities though, Ben and I. Anyway, the question remains, what can I do, (funny question, that, in light of my recent statements about “control”) to encourage a change in my attitude and feelings about this thing? After all, I HAVE been pondering the thought since arriving and I’ve come to no conclusion as of yet. Maybe when Ben arrives my mental state will improve, though it’s more likely that I’ll just feel alienated. Maybe once we finish all the preparatory tasks, get the hell out of this city, and fall into a rhythm of Doug running and the two of us handling our crewing tasks I’ll feel better. Maybe, maybe, maybe… That’s wholly meaningless to think about right now.

Well? What do I want then? I just want to follow my heart, as the saying goes. To live what I can determine to be my truth, whatever that is. But what if that truth hasn’t been revealed to me? Perhaps being here in Australia is all part of it. Perhaps I’m being stubborn and obstreperous for no reason. But even if I am, I can’t help it. The problem is I feel like I’m living out someone else’s dream, and not my own, and there is absolutely no way in a million years that I may be convinced otherwise—that doing this is living out my dream. Not without some monumental external force to totally flip me on my head. But what out there has the strength to shift my own jumble of yearnings pumped by my heart through my veins, to make room for another’s, and in effect bringing this other person’s dreams into alignment with my own, to make a little room for this other’s dream to become one of my own? But so much more than “a little” room is necessary!, for three months is a long time!, so therefore requires much space. This is akin to a birthing. It is the gestation period for a baby, a baby that is not, and can not be, my own. It is to spend all that time expending one’s energy, one’s motives, one’s thoughts on the gestation of this thing, but then once it is born giving it up to its proper owner, then turning around and walking away. I don’t know that I have that strength without the motivation, and motivation means care, and now I’m back to how do I care?