Saturday night I went with a friend to see a band I had never heard of. The best way to describe them is if Dave Matthews Band had a baby with The Gin Blossoms. The set lasted for about 2 and a half hours. The entire time I was there I had a fairly long range of emotions. Indifference, curiosity, more indifference, drunken interest, and eventually a full ability to let go and have a good time. My friend on the other hand is a huge fan. He was able to sit through the show and enjoy the entire thing. I go to an average of 20 shows a year. I am willing to see anyone live at least once. This particular show was kind of a throwaway and I had a great time. But it didn't start that way.
It started as most of my stories do: me in the fetal position on my bed at 7 am. Like most Saturday mornings I was up at the crack of dawn ready to go to work. I then spent the usual 5-10 minutes reminding myself that I don't work weekends. Once that feeling sets in I can relax and try to sleep for a couple more hours before I take the world by storm doing laundry and the occasional mowing of the lawn. Today was not one of those days. I agreed to go to a new bar with a friend. This is a recipe for disaster for my anxiety. For starters, I don't know anyone so instead of being an opportunity to meet new people or just enjoy myself I see it as a big problem. Secondly, going out with people makes me nervous as it is. I regularly say yes to people when my brain tells me to say no. I don't have a reason to say no; I just want to. Going to a new part of the state to a new bar with new people was making me a wreck so to my bed I resigned myself. Curled up with my pillow held against me seemed the safest place to be as it was to hot to hide under my comforter. After an hour or so of sitting and breathing much heavier than I should I got up to pee. I caught a glimpse of myself In the mirror and what I saw was pretty disgusting. I have someone who wants to hang out. I've got friends who reach out and see how I'm doing what I'm up too all that jazz. Why do I get so worried about doing things? Why do I feel all alone?
I have no idea. I truly wish I did. I wish I could be like my pal and sit in front at a show and interact with the band, call out to make requests and speak into the mic when it is passed to me during sing along say shows. But I can't. When I used to do stand up it was like I was a different person. In a lot of ways I was. I made a character up, a confident person who wasn't afraid of saying things. A guy who was always easy going and never nervous. On stage I'm not me. I'm someone else who other people's judgements and opinions of don't matter. I wish I was that person. I wish I let myself be that confident. There is so much that I have stopped myself from engaging and experiencing and soaking in because of my inability to let loose and let go. My life has so many extra layers of unnecessary stress, self imposed anguish that I simply don't need. But I still pile on myself. I stack worry and concern on myself like I'm a Sherpa climbing the Himalayan peaks. And I don't even tip myself! When I dance instead of moving I worry that I look like Elaine Benes doing her little kicks. When I sing instead of trying to be clear I hold back and sound like a broken car speaker in a 1994 Buick Skylark. I hinder myself. But why??? Where did this come from? I can't hop into my DeLorean and crank it up to 88 to go back and see. All I can do is focus on those moments where I become my worst emotional enemy. I've started to keep track of the moments that make me crazy, make me anxious. I've pinpointed some consistency in the triggers. That starting point has given me a platform to go with. When my feelings begin to become toxic, damaging, I can take a step back and stop beating myself up. Instead of taking the low road of dismissal I can instead take a shot at the high road of understanding. I can engage myself in a little bit of one on one coaching; is this really that big a deal? Do you truly care how it looks when you are dancing? Is the room you're in full of Adele, Stephen Tyler, and Celine Dion and do they give a shit about how you sound singing? No. They probably don't. And if they do, they can go screw. All that matters is how I feel about me. If I feel shitty about me then everything else is for naught. If I'm doing alright and feel good, then everything will end up rosy and bright. But until I let loose and let go I'll still be a prisoner of myself. Held captive like the girl in the pit not putting the lotion in the basket. And we all know what was going to happen to her, right? Dry skin. Loneliness is another beast. It might actually be The Beast. Capital B, that's how you know shit is #real. That's why we're going to pick up on this next time. Loneliness is the word for Thursday. Comment, share, email if you need an ear. But if nothing else, have a good day.
Until then, I have to find the right words to tell my friend that the band we saw was 'tots the best. And they used to be called the Gin Blossoms. In 1994. Have fun on Allison Road. I'll follow you down. Once I'm out of this bed that is.
Comments
Post a Comment