a reflection: addicted to chaos

Yesterday was a big manifesting day. Word on the street was Jupiter was lighting up the sky and everything I had read was telling me July 23rd was The Day to put whatever you were looking for out into the universe. 

I’m a big subscriber to this. I have friends call me regularly to tell me what they’re working to manifest so I can include it in my list. I love this role I play for them and for myself. I’ve been known to pull out blank newspaper sheets and magic markers at dinner parties to tell unsuspecting guests to write everything down they are calling into their life. I have wild stories about pulling in people, big breaks, perfect garden apartments by getting clear about what I’m looking for and then keeping my eyes open.

But yesterday, with all of this hype about how generous Jupiter and his many blessings were feeling, when I opened my eyes, it didn’t feel the way a day normally felt. 

Usually, my day starts with lines of a poem or an idea for a story floating around the room like Cinderella’s bluebirds chirping her awake. Instead, yesterday felt like a freight train I had to catch filled with things I needed.

You see, I believe my addiction of choice is chaos and control. Strangely, they are two sides of the same coin. It’s not all bad. It brings about incredible adventures, tends to make me pretty fearless in my career, makes me the person who walks around saying things like “jump and the net will appear.” (For the record, it does – but you’re usually not well rested when it presents itself.) The control makes me finish things. Makes me have an organized Google calendar and allows me to show up to places on time. (I’m also the person who’s going to have an extra set of sheets and your favorite snacks when you stay over.) 

But I’ve been wondering if these two things actually serve me or if they simply keep me in a cycle of creating problems and then having to solve them? Constantly testing my limits, betting on my hand with dangerous things like my self confidence and worth. 

“I think you’re calm, but you’re not relaxed.” Bug told me that recently. And he was right. I’m a swimming duck who prides herself on gliding through whatever tragedy or crisis comes her way, while secretly loving the ride she gets from the waves that are tossing her around. 

It gives me a sense of purpose – those waves. Those crises. It gives me an opportunity to remain calm and carry on, something that has turned into a large portion of my identity in the last few years. But at the risk of sounding too Carrie Bradshaw (I’ve been unwinding with SATC reruns lately) I’m starting to think that my churning little webbed feet are the things that are actually making the waves now. 

Look, I’m not going to be too hard on myself - I’ve been in therapy long enough to know that at times there will simply be tsunamis that I have no control over. We can’t control when someone we can’t imagine living without dies. We can’t control if we’re fired, dumped, or if someone hurts us. We can’t control if we’re evicted, or if we get the telephone call with the sad news we’ve been dreading for years. 

But I think it’s hard to recalibrate, after one of those things we can’t control happens, to calm water after we have been thrown around by the waves. It’s almost like the chaos, the unsettledness, gets more comfortable than maybe just being comfortable would be.

Two nights ago – the night before the big Jupiter-infused manifesting day – Bug called me in a panic. Well, a funny panic, you know? And one that I am absolutely sure you have felt before. 

He was trying to sleep but there was a song in an unrelenting loop in his head making it impossible. The problem was, anything concrete about this song - a melody, a chorus - was just out of reach. He called me and did the only thing you can do in that situation – tried to translate the 2% of the song he could grasp so maybe I could tell him what it was.

Humming ensued. There was some “you–u—u–u”-ing. There was some “she sings slow! And then she sings fast! And it’s pop…but it’s not! It’s kind of indie but it’s also pop!” 

“So it’s indie pop?”

“Not really!” 

“It must be this one,” I probably said 24 times, as I sent through another song from my Spotify. I’d hold my breath as it played on the other end of the phone and every time I would hear a desperately sad “it’s… not… it.” 

Eventually, the phantom song was driven from his brain after listening to many pop-indie-but-not songs. Bug fell asleep and I went back to doing whatever I had been doing before we had embarked on our own case of the missing hit (if you haven’t listened to this episode, stop everything you’re doing – you’re welcome.) 

I woke up the next morning and I admit the missing song didn’t weigh a single ounce on my mind. I had manifesting to do! I had a life I had to build, a new mountain to climb! I had to manifest everything from health issue solutions and creative fulfillment to comfortable outdoor furniture and a freestanding tub. (If you know me, those things won’t surprise you and if you don’t, well, those four things tell you a lot about what you need to know.) 

I spent my day thinking about the things I needed to pull in to make me happy. (Again, I believe in the power of doing this so I really give it my all.) But something shifted. It felt like chaos. It felt like [a false sense of] control. And I loved it. 

I went full steam ahead – I wrote 12 pages in my journal dreaming up all that I would need to bring in this perfect life I could picture with cozy linens and big beautiful area rugs. (You can tell I’ve been nomading for nine months when home goods are dominating my manifestations.) 

The shift in my energy was palpable. Like I had been relaxing at base camp for the last few weeks only to pick up my backpack and my ice pick and start climbing an Alp again. I realized I couldn’t take a deep breath. It’s not covid – it’s just that it’s hard to take a deep breath when you’re climbing up a metaphorical Alp. 

I started thinking last night, what was I going to do when I got to the top this time? Find another mountain to climb? That’s usually what I do. 

I have stood at the top of so many mountains that at one point felt too steep to start. I have climbed up a divorce. Up deep grief of losing a parent. I have climbed to the top of a career that I thought I wanted. Up and over a move to a city I always dreamed of living in. I mean, I truly hate to double down on the mountain metaphor and hit you with the classic stop-and-enjoy-the-view moment but it was true, I realized I hadn’t stopped in years. My pattern was to reach the summit and hop to the next mountain before there was any chance I could backslide.

I realize as I’ve been working on this piece this morning that this jump – this neglect to honor the view that I’ve crafted for myself – is all thanks to the 3 Cs. I don’t have time to sit and picnic at my current view because of 1) control 2) comparison and 3) chaos. (Thank God they all start with C. That’s very satisfying and not controlling at all.) 

It’s control – If I’m always moving, I can manage the speed I’m going and not fall into a backslide. 

It’s comparison – your mountain over there looks more fun/cozy/fulfilling than mine with your Fellow tea kettle and your sexy career.

It’s chaos – if I don’t slow down, then the next time something insanely bad happens I have a better chance of outrunning the shock and hurt if I already have a good pace set. 

But. 

Honestly you guys, I’m tired. 

And I’m really truly overwhelmingly happy in my life right now, even without the freestanding tub. So I’d really like to figure out a way to put it all down and just, soak in the tub view from the top of my mountain. 

It’s actually stunning. The light hits all of these beautiful things down below. It looks like a bookstore with hardwood floors, and a friend who shows up in a matching outfit. It looks like a bag of popcorn popped and split between two bowls, because one of us likes pepper and the other doesn’t. It looks like just making the train — slipping through instead of standing clear of the closing doors. It looks like nights in the kitchen dancing. Photos of a baby who just isn’t a baby anymore. Siblings who pick up the phone to call you as you’re calling them. It looks like dogs. It looks like friends who have dogs. 

It looks like friends who are bravely finding their joy again. It looks like friends who are bravely admitting that this is a hard season of their life. 

It looks like oceans, and rivers, and dirt roads, and paved roads (those come in handy at times.) It looks like time differences, and waking up to a heartwarming text from a friend half a world away. It looks like a song sticking in a love’s mind so he has to call and talk about music for 45 minutes on a Friday night. 

There is a way, I think, to set a goal, to change a path, to turn your ship, to manifest that perfect outdoor furniture you’ve always wanted, while not losing sight of the fact that everything you need you already have. I lost sight of this – and it made my breath catch in my chest and it made the whole world spin faster and it made me feel behind and small and scared more than it made me feel hopeful and whole.

To come back to the missing song – last night Bug was on the phone again and we were talking about something completely different. Actually, we were talking about this – this idea of stopping and enjoying the view (we know it’s an original thought don’t at us.) 

I got distracted for a moment and was humming absentmindedly. He freaking shouted at me – 

“WHAT ARE YOU SINGING?”

And there it was. Of course this was the song that was stuck in his head. Dolly, by Tierra Whack. Pop but indie but also not. She sings fast and then she sings slow. The song exactly as he described it.

Things have a way of coming to you, of finding you, when you give them a moment to flow. There’s not just one day we have to manifest everything we ever wanted in life. And doing it bigger and faster and more intensely does not a faster granted wish make. Instead there’s a constant dialogue, a constant redirection. An ask, a wait, a receive. A laugh when it comes in a completely different package than you pictured. 

We played the missing song and Tierra Whack’s voice filled my chest as she sang the end of the chorus: “I know I’m busy but I promise to make time for you.” 

This song goes out to my view. I love right where I am on my mountain today. I know I’m busy, but I promise to make time for you.