I guess that, seeing as my blog is called, Run Write Therapy Life, I am probably allowed to have days where I just write. Nighttime always brings out my deepest thoughts, and I had to stay up all night to finish a paper, so I ended up with a billion bursting thoughts in my head. And I think I have earned a pictureless post where I don’t talk about my body or running or food. Well, there’s a littlerunning hidden in here somewhere. But just a little. So, without further ado, here are my thoughts. Important ones.
I think that deep down, I do like people. Monday I was showing my therapist my favorite “happy pictures”, and she pointed out that I’m with someone else in every single one of them — never a group of people or a crowd, but always one person. And in every single picture, that person is someone who has been deeply important and influential for me. Interesting revelation. This confirms what I already know: I enjoy very powerful, strong relationships, and I enjoy having a handful of these. I do not enjoy having too many people who are too close to me. That scares me. Not because I am afraid to open up or because I’m being anti-social — those are things that, thankfully, I think I have already overcome — but because that is simply not how I work. How I work. And guess what? We can all work in different ways! How beautiful is that? For a long time, I told myself that I didn’t like people,and this so was not the case! I just have had to find the balance that works for me. I think that’s pretty much what all things in life are about. No two people work exactly the same way, which is a little bit scary, but also perfectly lovely.
If I want, I can walk in circles around the city wearing my favorite leafy green sweatshirt from 1999 and my geeky running shoes. I can carry my owl-print lunchbox to class and I can eat plain peanut butter if that’s what I want. I can read books all day or I can go laugh-cry (ladies, you know exactly what I’m talking about) at a chick-flick with my three best friends. I can buy myself paisley rainboots. I can snuggle up with my duck. I can write long fancy letters and draw trees on the envelopes and mail them the old fashioned way, if I want. I can reconnect with important people from my life whom I’ve neglected. I can make messy yogurt bowls and salad bowls and even make my own bowls at the pottery place. I can call my mom and cry to her if need be. Call my sister and tell her I’m sorry, if need be. I can draw irises with my pastels and put glitter on everything I encounter. I can go in quest of the best baking book and make my own souffles. And make my own chocolate. I can drink out of a straw or drink my favorite coconut bubble tea. I can go on dates with men if I want, when I want, because that is up to me. I can write a thousand poems about the same thing, I can tell my poetry teacher exactly what my name means. I can deal with things that come my way. I can remember how scary someone else’s addictions can be and make sure I never feel that terror again. I can learn more about horticulture and hastas and orchids and the way bodies move when they’re about to die. I can call my girl A and tell her exactly what’s wrong. Or what’s right. Or, simply, what my back feels like today. I can pick the raisins out of my cookies if I do not want them there. I can say hello to my favorite farmer at the market. I can have an adventure to Brooklyn or to Macchu Picchu, pending the requisite funds, of course. I can only buy pillows with elephants on them, if that is what I so choose to do. I can trust people. Even males. I can hold a friend’s hand when they are sad. I can pick out a new Japanese woodblock calendar every single year because my father likes Japanese woodblocks and I like my father. I can fold down the corner of every single page in my collected Neruda book. I can listen to birds and learn to differentiate between their songs, like my mother. I can take a pick ax to the things that don’t belong in my life. I can stand up straight and take a breather in tree pose, if that’s what my body asks for. I can secretly enjoy using my hands to stir things instead of a spoon. I can cook salmon in a million different ways. I can color coordinate my closet, or not. I can have a favorite color and then change my mind the next day. I can find the Little Dipper in the deep purple sky and know that it’s the same Little Dipper that has carried me through so many nights before this one. I can name a star after you. I can recognize my body as the strong instrument that it is. I can take her for long, long runs. Or short, short runs. I can sniff at tulip trees. I can find new streets. I can think of what I will name my future daughter — Sahar because it means the dawn which is a special time in which new things begin. I can use my peppermint foot lotion every night if I please. I can know what my body feels like and what it doesn’t feel like. What it may or may not enjoy. I can collect pretty water bottles. I can lounge over soul food in the dining hall. I can learn French words and mispronounce them. I can buy a fun new sheet set. Or a sweater set. Or a dish set. I can try to figure out how the sun never tires of having so many colors in her at the same time. I can lie in the grass or take the bus or place a bowl of peony blossoms on my desk. I can touch the spines on a cactus. I can call my therapist and tell her I’m having a bad day and need to talk. I can wash my coat. I can call my grandparents and just enjoy listening to their sweet, ancient voices. I can color on a shirt, I can go to yoga with my cousin. I can wake up early or sleep in, depending on how I feel. I can happily sit and read blogs in the late, late hours. I can make shapes with my hands. I can listen to me.