I still haven’t finished the Trendy/Hatred Paradigm post that I keep on promising. I’ve been stuck writing it for weeks, unable to finish due to life moving at a pace I have not been able to catch up with.
The draft is now stuck in limbo. It hinged on my plan to move to an area of North East London for which the paradigm is most appropriate. I am no longer moving to that area for reasons beyond my control that are too dull and unimportant to get into (be wary of grown adults who go by nicknames derived from their surnames).
In one short train journey from Gatwick to West London, I had gone from fondly reminiscing the holiday I had just finished, to facing a major shift in my life that threw all my expectations for the next year out the window.
September was supposed to be the month I sort of get my life together. I was going to finally have a semblance of routine, my own place (sharing with others because who are we kidding) and I was going to feel settled! - after a year of misery.
I have always struggled with issues around control. Control over my environment, emotions, future and immediate state. My fluctuating anxiety often manifests in a need to have total command over every facet of my life. When the unexpected occurs - eg. a house share agreement falls through - I pour all my energy into rectifying the course change. It’s as if the mechanics of my brain change in an instant, and I can only focus on that singular thing. I become obsessive until I tire myself out and give up.
I have made an active effort to try and manage that compulsion in recent years. Life often precludes us from retaining that sort of control (and thank fuck for that), and I learned that if I existed in a way where that need went unmanaged, I would be totally fucked. I tried to confront my need for control, to allow the discomfort to settle in my bones a little. I’m far from managing it in its entirety, but I’d like to think I’ve made some progress.
I still struggle with an itch to have a clearer vision of what is in my path each passing week or month. If the past five years of my life have taught me anything, it’s that I can’t predict any of this shit, and there’s no point in trying to.
When I became aware that my plans for September had fallen through, naturally, I sought comfort in my network of loved ones. Many repeated the same phrases I’ve used countless times before:“Something better will come along”, “everything happens for a reason”, “it will all work out, trust me” so on, so forth.
Being on the receiving end of such platitudes only solidified my pessimism in the moment. I understood they were trying to comfort me, but unless any of my friends and family have the gift of foresight and never bothered to tell me, it was hard in the throes of my sulk to take them at their word.
In an earlier Substack I wrote about my fondness for “It’s Getting Better All the Time” by The Beatles because of it’s honesty and strangely inverted optimism. The philosophy behind “things may feel shit now, but they could be a lot worse” is more comforting than an untethered, broad promise that basically means “entrust in the randomness of the universe that it’ll probably be fine!”. In my case, things could absolutely be a lot worse, which is what I keep on reminding myself. I am safe and healthy and so is everyone I love, so really, it’s small fish. I did a bit of crying and a fair amount of sulking and for now I’ve gotten most of it out of my system.
There is still a fairly strong urge to stay in bed all day and mope and listen to Changeling on repeat and ask myself do I really want to be here or do this or what any of it is gearing up to. My resistance to the urge comes and goes. I’ll keep you posted.
I am still in need of a place to live come September, so to the fairly small (dare I say dedicated?) number of readers I have, if you hear of anything in/around that triangle of London you know I’m fond of, drop me a line.