How I Drowned in My Own Story (Again)

august

Sometimes conscious living feels like an endless project.

Staying clear, staying present, breathing, not reacting, feeling…but not over-feeling.
And somewhere in all of that I secretly hoped someone would say,
“You’re doing great. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Instead, I just felt alone. Overwhelmed. Unseen.

So the familiar loop began: blame.
First toward others.
Then toward myself.
Eventually…toward life itself.

Why do I have to do this alone? Why can’t I get it right?

That moment when you’re not only sad,
but also disappointed about the fact that you’re sad.
The meta-layer of self-awareness that sometimes blocks more than it frees.
Because even in awareness, you can get tangled up
in the idea that it should be “better.” Calmer. Wiser.

“Awareness as performance pressure. Ironic, but true.”

And then something small happened.
No spiritual download, no voice from above…just a flicker of space.
Like a light turning on between two thoughts.

Ah, I thought.
So this is it.
Not the end of the storm, but the recognition that it’s storming.

Biologically, an emotion lasts only about ninety seconds.
If you simply feel it, without building a story around it, it moves through.
What lingers is the narrative,
the loop of “why I feel this way” instead of the feeling itself.

Awareness doesn’t start with understanding.
It starts with noticing.
Not fixing. Not analyzing.
Just being with what is, even when it’s messy, tired, or raw.

The practice of awareness isn’t lofty.
It’s not about transcending your humanity,
but about allowing it.
I still forget that daily.
And each time, I get to begin again.

Sometimes I think awareness has more to do with humor than holiness.
The ability to stand in your own storm and say,
“Oh well. I fucked up.”
And then breathe again, gently.

That’s the practice.
Not to do it right,
but to keep showing up.

Maybe awareness is simply
the moment you stop trying to improve yourself
and start inhabiting yourself.

Awareness isn’t a destination.
It’s a repeating exercise in gentleness.
And every time you forget… you’ve already practiced again.