I should have seen it coming.
/
Leave it to an Enneagram type 7 to hack a circumvention to sadness.
It started with a desire to do a little Dolly research (yes, Parton, is there another Dolly?).
I don't think I know anyone who isn't a fan so to give you my Dolly resume feels a little vain, but let's just say, I grew up behind the Piney Veil of East Texas, where country was king and learning the two-step was a rite of passage. But I am working on some content ideas for a zine I'm developing (heretofore entitled Hot Flash) and I pulled up last year's podcast series, Dolly Parton's America, which I'd been saving to savor (and now fulfill a bit of rabbit-holing).
It had been a minute since I'd listened to the song, My Tennessee Mountain Home, which if you've listened to the pod series, you know it makes a significant appearance. That sent me directly to Spotify to pad my playlist, Gone Country, which shot me right through the Tunnel of Nostalgia, back to my Texas Forested Home. Although full of contradiction, as inside the four walls was far from ideal, growing up as a feral child from the hours of 3pm to 8pm (after school until dinner) on ten overgrown acres was definitely idyllic.
Longing seems to be my portal to sadness, despair and even grief. I need to go there, even though I resist it. And it prepared me for what was to come, which was a sharing of past and current events in a couple of sacredly held online spaces with beautiful women that I trust with the most tender parts of me.
When I first heard the word, Stay, or the words Lean In, the rebellious teenager in me screamed, What does that even mean? Like with most suggestions, I have to design a version that works for me. Here's what it looks like:
I write. I write in my journal. I'm writing this letter to you. I write myself right.
I listen to music. It's good a sort of trigger for me, and I allow myself to be sad.
I drastically reduce social media engagement. Social media buffers, which is useful sometimes, but not for staying.
I do things, but not as a means to change my feelings. The more repetitious the activity (like making), the more I'll ruminate.
I meditate. It provides a tether to stability so I don't get too unhinged.
Feeling stuck or trapped is as uncomfortable as it gets for me, but I'm learning to be deliberate while I'm there. If I zoom out to see my life on a continuum, every memory is a useful touchstone. And not to keep me in the haze of my own limiting beliefs but to bolster mental clarity. It's like being in the eye of the storm, where space is still. Staying is a reprieve and it offers grace as a soft pillow to lay my head.
What does staying mean to you? I'd be remiss if I didn't offer my space as a place of reprieve. There's room to breathe with lots of soft pillows, piles of journals and pens with unlimited ink. See you there.