What does it mean to be me? Am I still me if I cut off my hair, change my name, and move to a different country?
That's what I've felt like doing recently, at least. The changing and the moving, that is.
The past few weeks have been rough. Recently, I cut off a good three inches of hair. I had a professional do it this time, but I've cut my own hair before. I cut my own bangs in September on a whim and have been dyeing my hair various colors since eighth grade. It's how I deal when things are difficult emotionally—I change my hair. I don't know why I do it, I just do.
It's like I'm trying to find the other Emily, the part of me that has things sorted out. The Emily I know that I can be, but can't quite reach. It's like there's this wall of fog that I can't bypass, I can't see through, I can't climb over, and I have like, a shoe box to stand on. I can barely see over the top of this wall of fog, and I can barely see this other Emily.
She's happy over there. It's warm over there, and sunny. She's smiling over there, and waving to me. C'mon over, she seems to say, it's real nice over here. You can rest for a bit, if you want.
I do not know how to rest.
I know how to sleep, but that is not always rest.
I know to get into my bed, close me eyes, and regulate my breathing. I know how to put a little melatonin tablet into my mouth, swallow and wait for it to work.
I do not know why I cannot slow down. It's like I'm pre-programmed to go until I can't, to not stop unless I hit a (sometimes literal) wall.
It is a lot at times. It is too much most of the time.
The idea of lebensraum, of living space, is far more attractive to me. My dad used to talk about it; he speaks fluent German. He would talk like it was something physical you actually build, like a room you furnish with hip couches and artsy pillows. I saw advertisements for it at Ikea.
I have been trying to create my own lebensraum for eons it feels like, and it is really hard. It is hard to force your brain to function, hard to get your words out right, hard to not want to peel back the layers of skin and bone and poke it like a child, demanding it WAKE UP ALREADY.
Maybe I am too aggressive about it. Maybe I need to chill out, be less militant about my down time.
One of my professors once said that we should try to take a Sabbath once a week. That we should not try and make ourselves better on the Sabbath. That we should rest on the Sabbath.
That we should let our brains turn off for a bit. Let ourselves watch silly shows on Netflix or talk with friends. I like to listen to music, close my eyes and let my imagination wander.
I find myself in a field. There's emerald green grass, a bright blue sky. My feet are bare, but the grass doesn't poke at them like real grass does. The sun is shining, there are birds chirping animatedly at each other, and there I am. There she is, the other Emily, the one I try to be like. The one who is more calm about things, has her life together, has better, shinier hair.
There she is. There I am. We are one in the same.
Have a good week, friends.
