From Another Planet

Some days I feel temporary.

Like I’m just a visitor from another planet. Just here until the Mother Ship comes and takes me home.
And I think, “I have so much to do in such a small amount of time”. Spending more time making a list of all the important things that need to be done before I go.
Just to lose the list.

Or a holographic image. Seeming lifelike and tangible from a distance, but the closer you get, you see the fragility of my existence.
An image without substance.

On other days I feel sturdy and rooted and permanent. Absorbing information. Dendrites growing. Emitting my learning and my expertise. Building something of importance. Strong and sturdy for those who need to use me for support or for reference, or for ingenuity. Creating stories, strengthening relationships.
Contributing more than just carbon dioxide.

Neither feeling upsets or confuses me. I merely note the incongruity between the two and wonder what I will feel tomorrow and if anyone ever feels the same.

But most days, I feel as though I just think too much about how I feel.
And I’m tempted to be “sexist” and blame it on my gender.
Or “Freudian” and blame it on my upbringing.
Or “Catholic” and blame it on an examination of conscience.

And I realize that there is no one or nothing to blame.

We Don’t Need to Know Everything

When we are young, when everything seems new and we’re open and curious to learn, we listen to those who know or can teach us skills to “find out” for ourselves.
How to ride a bike.
How to hold our pencil.
To skate.
And we listen with trust and childlike appreciation to those who will show us how and then to those who will show us how to do better.
But then, somewhere along the way, this trust and appreciation turn to frustration and impatience. As teenagers, we say, “who are you to tell me what to do?”
“Leave me alone.”
“This sucks.”
Eventually, we realize that we indeed do not know everything, at least not the things we need to know to succeed at a new job, make money, buy a house. All the “things” that come along in life that are new. So we listen and learn from the experts who will teach guide and us.
But then we stall. Again we think we know it all. We don’t want to learn because it will require effort,
or change
or, heaven forbid,
more responsibly.
We’re scared to fail. Or too proud to acknowledge a need for growth. So we muddle around in a rut expecting accolades for redundancy. Or again, to be left alone in a cocoon of unaccountability.
And we may resent those who try to teach us, and this time we think instead of say:
“Leave me alone”
or “who are you to tell me what to do.”
or “Let me do what I’ve always done…
even if it’s mediocre.
Because complacency is familiar. And doesn’t require effort.
And I think the only way to regain that childlike trust to learn from someone else is through humility. And the acknowledgment that someone else might, in fact, know something I don’t know. And if that person has my respect, then mentors can exist even for adults.
And I can learn above suspicion
with the same innocence as a child.

To Pull Out Our Brain

“If only we could pull out our brain and use only our eyes” Pablo Picasso.

I sometimes have the tendency to overanalyze.

Ok, I often have the tendency to overanalyze and question and stew, which ultimately leads me to doubt my interpretation and second guess my response.

At times it’s exhausting.

And I wonder,

wouldn’t it be wonderfully freeing to once in a while absorb information simply at face value?

It is what it is.

To view it as a manifestation of truth with no assembly necessary. To see something, just to see it. To see someone just to see them.

To observe without elucidation or analysis.

To experience without intention.

Sometimes this is easy. Immersing myself in nature. Sitting on a beach looking out over the great expanse of the ocean. Inhaling the salty air deeply and listening to the lapping of the water.


driving through the mountains, the white peaks, the small trickles of melted water relenting to gravitational force and winding their way down the mountainside.

Watching fields of golden wheat dance in the wind.

No interpretation is needed.




It’s unfortunate such experiences don’t happen as often as they should. The life we create for ourselves, especially in adulthood, is crammed full of exterior stimulus of an electronic nature. The constant bombardment of information that needs to be processed and either stored or dismissed. Evaluation required.

Maybe we all have the eyes of an artist; we just need to “pull out our brain” in order to use them.