Little Thing 341: The Architecture of Moving On

Af asked me what I do when I’m feeling stuck, and I’ve been reflecting on that question.

I’m impatient, goal-oriented, methodical. My instinct has always been to solve things. If something feels wrong, I go straight to the core and look for the real problem instead of treating the symptoms. I don't avoid things whenever something feels uncomfortable and I don’t really know how to do surface level. I tend to see several layers deep.

The problem is that some things cannot be solved immediately. Some problems require time, or grief, or experience. There are layers to move through, levels to graduate from. But for me to feel fully at ease, I need every loose thread tied up. My brain works like a spider web of information. Everything connects to everything else. Plan A links to Plan B, which depends on solving Plan C first. Every decision branches into ten possible consequences.

So I never really relax. Not completely anyway.

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Right now, I’m dealing with some sort of heartbreak. So naturally, I’m trying to intellectualize everything that’s happening to me: waking up at 3:30 a.m., losing weight, the inability to eat, the mild depression, struggling to focus on work, the absurd amount of caffeine I’m consuming just to function, the crying. Oh my God, the crying. Full heartbreak starter pack.

And I don’t have the patience for it. That’s the thing.

I’m completely aware of what’s happening to me, almost clinically aware, but awareness and control are two very different things. I can explain the mechanisms behind every symptom and still be unable to stop any of it. That’s the part that annoys me the most. Not even the sadness itself anymore, but the loss of authority over my own mind and body. Like suddenly I’m no longer the architect of the system, just another person trapped inside it, watching alarms go off in every room. 

So, back to the question: what do I do when I’m feeling stuck?

I have a whole toolkit for surviving difficult things, and I don’t really want to list all the rituals required just to keep functioning. But one thing I’ve been doing lately is this: I do the things that scare me. The things that challenge me. The things I normally would have postponed until I felt more ready, more stable, or more certain.

For example:

• I bought a small space for me and Sofi.
• I submitted my short story for a contest.
• I applied for Japanese language classes. (Rejected - Full)
• I started going on solo dates.
• I submitted an application for something big. (I’ll talk about it if it happens)
• I shared the songs I wrote with singer-songwriters.
• I bought Joji tix !
• I reached out.

Every week, I try to do things that scare me, partly to remind myself that I’m still alive, and partly because heartbreak has this strange effect where disappointment loses some of its power. Like once your nervous system has already declared a national emergency, rejection emails start feeling almost administrative. What do I have to loose, kan. Alang2, I'm in pain, let's use this efficiently. 

The idea behind it is that the more new things slotted into your brain, the more your mind starts believing that life is still moving, still expanding, still within your control. New experiences interrupt the depressive loop. Slowly, you begin teaching your brain to move on, telling it: “Hey, this is good. We can continue. We are expanding. We’re okay.”

That's the light of hope and that's your past dream

Some doors might eventually open, new opportunities, who knows.  

You should try it. It’s strangely refreshing. Almost funny, even.