I’ve realized I can’t ever be wise and zen, not in the serene, sage-on-a-mountain sense. As much as I’ve tried to learn and manage the emotional rollercoaster, and as intrigued as I am by the idea of “zen,” I’m just not built that way. I’m a passionate person. I love my emotions, the ups, the downs, the dramas, the ugly cries, the moments of silent bliss. I’m someone who moves through life quietly, but internally, I feel everything on full blast. I don’t always show it, but inside? It’s a technicolor opera.
When I fall, I fall hard, and I'm not scared of giving my all.
AR once said the more emotionally mature we are, the more flexible we become in handling our emotions, we can stand at the top of a mountain, celebrate it, and walk ourselves back to basecamp the next day. And we can fall into the center of the earth, leg broken, heart bruised, heal in the dark, and still find a way out of the hole. That’s the skill I want to master.
Not denial, not numbing, not stoicism.
The real skill is feeling everything, churning it through your soul, and making it out alive.
I’m not trying to be a sage. I don’t want detachment. I want the cinematic saga. I want to care, deeply, fiercely. I refuse to pretend otherwise. Indifference is boring.
I need these emotions, because I’m a writer. And if I don’t feel, I can’t write.
So I take it all in. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it hurts. Even when I don’t like it.
