I can’t juggle. But I try to every single day.
I try to take everything there is, and everything there could be – all of my endless possibilities – and toss them between my fingertips. I wonder why I feel so tired.
I try to imagine how I’m going to fit everything in. How I’m going to work a full-time entry-level career, how I’m going to get healthier – more stable, more able – how I’m going to write a book one day, live in a van, travel, move back home to Ontario, and stay out here.
I wonder how I’m going to see everyone I want to see this year. My family, my friends in Ontario, and my friends overseas. I toss these ideas around, dropping them one by one and then racing to pick them back up. I imagine I have to have figure everything out by yesterday.
So I write tentative plans in the forms of letters to myself in a journal. I try to make them look pretty, appealing, easy to grasp. I promise myself that if I just focus on right now, for right now, I will get to everything later. I convince myself that I have no time to waste waiting. So I promise myself there will come a time and a place but that time and that place is not right now – cannot be right now.
I want to figure everything out at once – I want to do everything, and be everything, and see everyone, all at once. I want to move quicker and do more, and yet I want everything to slow down – I want a break – I want to breathe. Most days I wake up to reality politely reminding me that I cannot be in two places at once. But I’m sensitive to reminders like that, and I take it personally.
I am figuring everything out. But sometimes I wish I would just stop trying to figure anything out. That I would leave questions unanswered, and simply be okay with that. Some days I wish there was an off switch so I could just stop thinking for a little while – for maybe an hour or so. But I suppose if there was, there wouldn’t be any of this to write down.