Sometimes I feel like none of this is real.
I stare at the places, the people and things around me and I try to center myself. I tell myself, “This is your home. This is the street you live on, these are your neighbors,” but it feels forced, like I’m acting in a play called My Life. The flowers look like beautifully painted props that I should stop and smell because the audience expects me to. I know there are lines I’m supposed to say, stage directions to follow, but suddenly I’ve lost them.
I feel the breeze blow through me and it’s cold, but it doesn’t chill me because it isn’t real. I plant my feet firmly below me and find gravity, feel myself rooted in the moment and I take it in. This is my life. These roads, these people, this home, they belong to me. I wiggle my toes and pretend I’m standing in the sand, letting the waves wash over me as I remain stagnant in this moment – not allowing this breeze to knock me over.
I make dinner, wash dishes, fold laundry, kiss babies, make plans. I buy cereal, book vacations, call repair men and check my calendar. End scene. I listen to the birds chirping outside and my brain thinks, “That’s a bird.” As if I needed to be reminded what a bird is. That’s a bird chirping in my yard. Sometimes I do need reminding that this is all mine. That I made this life and it still belongs to me. I won’t disappear tomorrow, this life won’t disappear tomorrow. Like that nightmare when you find yourself launched back in time, back to high school or childhood, late for your test, again. I worry sometimes, in the back of my mind, that I cheated life getting here and that at some point the Gods will notice and set things straight. Make me go back to my life before this. That they’ll take all this away. My house, my family, the birds chirping outside my window.
I breathe in and root myself again, wiggle my toes, smell the flowers. This is my street. These are my neighbors. This is my house. This is my home. This is my life. This is real.
The moment passes and I forget that I am just an actor, playing this role. The doorbell rings, a child asks for a glass of water and I’m brought back to myself. I fold clothes, check my email, wash more dishes. I plug back into my life and engage and for awhile I forget this happened. I forget that I questioned anything and I live my life without a second thought. Like a normal person. Life goes on and I am a part of it again. For awhile.
-edit- No, you aren’t having de ja vu. I posted this a couple of days ago and then in a moment of vulnerability, I switched it to private because my neurotic anxiety got the best of me. But I love this post, so I’m publishing it again and letting my freak flag fly another day.