“Where is my mind? Way out in the water, See it swimmin’…”
I don’t have any tattoos. But if I ever got inked, I could do much worse than those lyrics from one of my favorite bands of all time.
I’ve had the privilege to see the Pixies twice, once at ACL and then again at Austin Music Hall. I still get chills thinking about those shows. Something about the confusion and alienation and anger overlaid over those sick bass lines really does it for me.
The purpose of my Pixies tattoo would be twofold. It would remind me of those incredible shows. More importantly, I’d serve as a much-needed slap on the head, a cry to wake up.
I live in my head a lot.
That’s what most writers do.
And this isn’t limited to people whose work demands they type alone in front of a computer screen. Stroll down the street and you’ll see people walking dogs and riding bikes and driving along, most of them staring straight ahead, most of them not even there at all.
It’s like everyone is living in separate reality tunnels. And whenever we congregate in common spaces, we do our best to pretend that we aren’t.
Alienation in social settings could be the subject of an entire series of blog posts. Toss in a super intelligent, machine-learning distraction device in everyone’s pocket, and you have the makings of a dystopian novel.
But my Pixies lyrics aren’t about that. They’re about something much more personal.
No matter how hard I try, I find my mind spinning. Dwelling on the past or conjuring demons in an imaginary future – 99 percent of whom I’ll never encounter.
I deny the here.
I deny the now.
My mind loves to feed on all this stuff. To run wild and keep me awake at night, lying there, wondering, dreading, regretting. Like fire, it’s a great servant but a terrible master.
I’ve been listening to old episodes from the Duncan Trussell Family Hour during my walks lately. Duncan is a hard man to pin down. Take a healthy dose of religion and mysticism, and add in psychedelic drugs and a penchant for virtual reality, and you end up with some pretty interesting conversations.
Some of these conversations really got me thinking about just how much of a barrier my mind has become.
How?
I realized I’ve been sabotaging myself for years. Ever since I’ve made it my goal to become a professional writer, set the intention and put it out there to the universe, I’ve denied myself a sliver of happiness until I get there.
“Things are pretty good right now. But they’ll be great when I’m doing this full-time.”
That’s how the thought process goes.
I’m trying to delay life. To put it off despite its insistence to keep happening right now!
Imagine you’re trapped in a prison cell. This prison cell is surrounded by a beautiful meadow, where deer run in the evenings and birds chirp the arrival of the morning fog. You waste away in that prison for years, waiting, hoping for someone to let you out…
Until one day everything changes.
On this day you realize that you’re the captive AND the prison guard, and your cell door is open. It’s been open all along.
What are you dwelling on or dreading in your life right now?
What is pulling you away from the present?
Which arbitrary conditions have you set before you allow yourself to fully experience the meadow surrounding us all?
We all need reminders from time to time. God knows I do. But even when you’re fifteen pounds overweight and your car’s falling apart and you’re working a job you hate, that meadow remains.
Where is my mind, where is my mind, where is my mind?
Are you watching it?
Do you see it spinning?
Maybe it’s time to remember the crack in your prison door, and let yourself out.
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Choosing Now – Corey Pemberton