What I do When I'm Met With a Gremlin

The sun glares down as I sit on the worn outside chairs by the firepit. Before the firepit there was a pool, before the pool there was a trampoline, before the trampoline there were some trees. I miss the pool most right now. 

I’m tanning while I read but a kid is wailing in my neighbors yard-screaming, crying-this kid is mad. I hear the dad trying to make them happy and stop-but it isn’t working at all. The dad continuously makes a funny noise again and again with the same tone of voice. From an outside perspective, hearing the dad try and stop a wailing kid with the same noise is extremely dumb-he should really try something else-the baby is obviously not going to stop-in fact I think their wails are getting louder. But in the heat of the moment-what else can the dad do. We have all been here, praying and hoping that at least one more time of the helicopter sound will magically make the baby stop. Maybe when my child is screaming I will remember this and try alternative options. 

I started reading another Hurakami book- it's quite good, I always enjoy his work. 

Since coming back home I have felt in a weird lull. I don’t really know how to explain it exactly-it’s not that I feel extremely unmotivated, depressed, anxious or annoyed. But I also don’t completely feel my best either. To be honest-all summer, since the end of school I have felt this way. The feeling is like a little gremlin that I can’t shake off my shoulder. It adds a weight to my body ,it takes sup a lot of my energy and headspace, and whispers nasty things in my ear that keeps me from doing a lot of the activities that make me feel good. 

I don’t feel an extreme lack of confidence. 

I don’t wish I was someone else.

I’m still accomplishing and working towards a lot of my goals. 

I’m still dancing and working out-getting outside, seeing friends and family. 

But I don’t feel completely there, I don’t feel completely here. 

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As I’m reading Hurakami’s book about writing, it reminds me of how I’ve been in a writing lull for the past week or two, which makes me think of a running lull, which makes me think that running and writing are really similar. 

When I’m on a high or a good “rut” with any one of these, I feel unstoppable. In writing, the creative juices pour out like fresh lemonade, I feel like my mind is working too fast to get put on paper, one idea leads to the next and I am proud of the work I put out. In running, it feels like I can conquer the world. The wind in my face and music in my ears pushes me to move faster and faster, I can see improvements in my speed and I honestly feel like I can run for miles on end. 

On the flip side, a rut for both of these is one of the worst feelings. Writing just feels like a dull chore, silent walks in the morning don’t help, each poem feels like the most basic thing ever written and every idea ends up floating into the abyss.

A bad run is like death. Heavy legs, slow time, torture. Complete, utter, torture. 

I’ve been in a rut for both of these. Writing here and there, but the lack of motivation and love for running has kind of been all summer.

It’s annoying at times, but instead of trying to release these emotions, store them away, or lash out, I am letting myself sit in the discomfort of them.

I’m letting myself be fulfilled with the enjoyment of other activities, maybe rest a bit more, and discover something new. I’m letting myself be challenged by still running and writing when inspiration hits or when I want to push myself-but if the run doesn’t feel great, or if the poem isn’t good, I don’t get angered about it-I learn from the experience, and move on. 

I’m at a point where I know these processes of change and discomfort or dissatisfaction are temporary and teach me something in the end. So I’m not really getting peeved about them. I’m mostly just taking it day by day, And soon-once those days turn into weeks and months, the rut will probably be long over, maybe I’ll have something greater to worry about, maybe I'll have nothing to worry about at all. I don’t know. 

For now, I sit and I let it all pass through, in, and around me- absorbing the moments that feel extra sticky, or flood through my whole being. 

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I think I’m slowly learning to accept change, within myself, within my routine, and within my life. 

Going to the same school for 9 years and having a pretty ritualistic daily routine throughout high school was comforting for me, the summer going into college was slow and long-I had lots of time to get comfortable in my youth and teenage years.

Then each quarter of college throws a new wrench into the system. 

New York was something to adapt to.

Being back home is something new. 

And soon-I’ll be back on the shores of La Jolla again. 

I don’t know why-but sometimes I have it stuck in my mind that I have to remain the same despite my exterior world changing. 

My clothes must fit and be the same. 

My morning routine must be the same. 

My workout and dance schedule must be the same. 

If they aren’t-I lose control. 

But what even is a loss of control?

To an extent-I can look at life and think I can’t control anything-this goes back to my previous piece of whether life matters or not-it all gets fucked up anyhow so why even try to control the outcome?

I’m beginning to despise this outlook. 

Sure-a lot of events and reactions are not mine to take the reign on. 

But I can control a lot more than I think I can. I can control the responses to the change. When the car begins to hydroplane, or I make the wrong turn-I can control whether it is the right choice to let the car spin into oblivion, crash, and get a new one, or-recognize that the feeling of being lost doesn’t mean I throw everything away-I simply can start on a new path-that will lead me to the same destination. 

Anyways-little by little I've been trying to let these rigid beliefs go. 

I’m only 18-entering 19, almost 20-I am meant to change. 

Nothing is supposed to remain the same. 

This so-called “loss of control” brings new discoveries and opportunities to me. 

I still enjoy having my habits and rituals that bring me peace, but if they go in a different order, if they maybe are done a different way at a different time of day, or maybe not done at all-it’s all ok.

 More than ok-it’s all good. 

A rut is only a rut.

It’s always moving.

Soon the little gremlin will jump off my shoulder.

Until then, I'm still seeing the sun and marching along a path of something…leading somewhere.