I am a white middle aged woman. I’m a daughter, sister and mother. I’m an active duty soldier. I’m an animal advocate. I’m a jazz musician. I’m an empath. I’m a recovering Catholic who loves the art and ritual but hates the learned guilt.
These are the labels I attach to myself. They tell a story about who I am, and what has been my life.
Over the past several months and years, I have felt this uneasy motion in the world. It’s like I am on a surface that is slowly being tilted, and I’m sliding towards some invisible edge.
If I’m honest, I am finding little pleasure in the things that used to bring me such joy, especially making music. It’s not that I don’t care about music. I adore it. But I don’t find any great pull to create. Therefore, I don’t touch my horn. Instead, I read, I study, I worry about my children, I sleep. When I feel restless, I find myself doing monotonous tasks that require little thought, and I feel ok because my time is passing by with little boredom, and the rough edges fade away from my thoughts for a little while. I feel every pain and ache my body has to give, and I feel them with very little physical output.
What is happening?!
I’m not lazy.
I have no control over the shit that is going on in a world that I grew up believing was safe and good. I am slowly becoming paralyzed in some place I don’t recognize, and I’m not sure if this is the normal process of aging, or if it’s just really fucked up.
I feel like a child relying on her parents to protect her, but who doesn’t really know if her parents are in the house.
The country is a hot mess. Playing a piece of metal feels pretty feeble and unimportant. What good is it if the national pain is rising? Our children deserve a better life than what we are collectively living. The current situation is unsustainable. Something may break beyond repair, and this is what is so frightening.
Am I all alone on this path?