Have you ever had so much to say you didn’t know how to say it, where to start or if what you wanted to say needed to be said in the first place?
That’s me. I’ve had a really active life, sprinkled with some moments of utter bliss and good news along with heart-thumping moments of trepidation, and a really busy brain, filled with a bunch of thoughts clamoring in my head, all vying for attention.
Sometimes it’s really hard to put one’s head in order, isn’t it?
My brain is usually in a state of disarray anyway, so it’s hard to find where things belong in the first place. It probably resembles the way I kept my room when I was a teenager. (Sorry, Mom. I remember how you often said that it looked as if a clothes factory exploded there.) It makes organizing thoughts and feelings a little bit of a challenge for someone like me. The mailboxes in my brain get stuffed full with good things to store, as well as the little pieces of whatnots with which I don’t know what to do, but I don’t have the heart to toss because they either:
- need to be kept because I’ll use them later.
- remind me of good memories.
- look pretty, even if they serve no purpose.
- are part of something broken and I’m saving them, thinking that I’ll get around to fixing whatever it is someday.
- will be tossed sometime or other, but not today.
Do you know about the mailboxes in your brain? I mentioned them to a good friend about them just a couple of days ago, but I didn’t get a chance to explain the notion. Pretty sure I left another person scratching his head, wondering where I come up with my nonsensical concepts. Story of my life – leaving people more confused than when I found them!
Everyone has mailboxes in their heads, you know, those cubby holes where you can stuff things, like the backside of a post office where the employees sort and stuff the mail. Everyone’s sizes and number of boxes are different. Some people can hold vast amounts of information, ideas and memories while others have smaller boxes and can’t hold as much. That’s why some people seem to have the capacity to remember/do a lot, like those individuals who can answer all sorts of trivia, who never forget the names or faces of people they’ve encountered or who are multitalented gifted individuals who retain skills learned long ago (and learn new ones to enhance their abilities) seem to be able to do everything with ease.
I am awed by those people. I want to be one of those talented people. I want to be “the knower of things”, to be the go-to person that others need.
If you’re smart, you actually organize those thoughts so they’re in places that makes it easy to find what you need.
Then there are people like me who stuff things in the cubby holes in a hodge podge way. Finding something needed takes a little longer as I rifle through all the boxes of thoughts, throwing items over my shoulder as I wonder where I put what was needed. You think I’m a mess as a person? You don’t even want to visit the chaotic mailboxes of my mind…
Those boxes can hold a lot, but eventually, after stuffing and stuffing those boxes full, you can’t put in any more. The only way to put anything new in a box is to take something out, forgetting it so that you can use that space for something else. People usually discard things they won’t need again.
Or you’re like me, discarding something only to discover that you do need it again, dagnabit. Should have gotten rid of some of those bad memories or words to songs… or at least vacuum sealed them so they wouldn’t take up as much space.
I have no idea why I’m writing about the mailboxes.
I do know that I have lots of things that have happened since March. I have been holding onto them, trying to get them assembled in my mind. Places, trips, memories, thoughts, epiphanies… I don’t seem to be able to get them in order, into words. I’m feeling quite scatter-brained and distracted.
This post seems to be confirmation of my state of mind at the moment. Gah. It’s quite directionless…
So I guess this post is a check-in, my way of saying that I’m here, wherever here is.
In the future, the near future, I’ll sit myself down, mug in hand, and force myself to stop for a moment. To breathe. To be still. To allow myself the permission to think about myself in clear, bright light. To take all of me in. To admit to pains, to joys, to hopes, to fears, to dreams. To be real. To be honest. To enjoy the moments given. To plan for the ones ahead.
And then I’ll write about them.