Stuck on Repeat

As the outcome of these last two months of travelling and teaching, one thing became clear to me:

I AM STUCK ON REPEAT.

There is nothing wrong with routines or quotidianità. Many strive for them as a symbol of personal success. I did too, for a while. But I’ve come to terms with the fact that my spirit only enjoys them in small doses; because it is also as wild as a summer fire.

I suffer from dry routines, the ones without any apparent purpose. I struggle with “eating the same soup every day.” Through my studies; spanning philosophy, history, religion, sociology, behaviour, anthropology and psychology, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am one of those: a life hunter. An experience seeker.

I can already read your thoughts, my dear reader, and here is where you are wrong: I don’t strive for any particular form of freedom. I simply want to know that I have freedom of choice.

Societal norms and rules provide their frames of what is and isn’t acceptable, and I see myself as a player in this game. I respect the rules, but beyond that, my soul and I sing at the Moon.

I can love being domesticated, at times, but the call of life will always trigger a response from my spirit. I grew up with rules. A lot of rules. Too many for a child to carry and still remain light-hearted. Punishment was part of the play, so I learned early that everything has a consequence. I grew up with a lot of “no’s,” born of education and scarcity, so I decided young that I would work hard to never say “no” to myself — to my desires and aspirations.

And so I did.

I had a career, money, a house, cars, designer clothes and accessories, expensive things, beautiful holidays. I acted as I pleased, and still I felt a hole, something was missing.

The real experiential essence of life. So I said “no” to the comfort, the title, the status, so I could say “yes” to a dormant part of me: the summer fire, the spirit who sings at the Moon, the she-wolf.

The one who wanted to smell, taste, see, feel, touch beyond the luxury provided by money, another kind of luxury: the luxury of being alive.

So I am trying. The house-trained dog in me still barks sometimes, telling me my thoughts are unconventional, wrong, dark, messy.

They are.

The attraction to shadow, the refuge in pain like a blanket when I suffer, the tiredness of conventional beauty. I seek depth, mind, shadow, the unclear, the uneasy, the unsaid.

I can’t rewind. I can’t repeat.

I keep playing, until the moment I will be stuck on repeat again. And then, I will welcome myself into a new phase.