I think this is the last of my unfinished writings…
It’s been two months since I’ve come back from Japan. I had expected to feel settled, to have found my groove…but I find that something is still missing, that I don’t feel whole, or at one with myself. Lately, I find that I am disappointed in myself – for not being in a place where I can give others what I feel they expect of me. Of course, it’s not really what others expect from me, but what I expect myself to give others.
In our women’s spirituality circle that I have recently begun attending, Mom told us the story of Gyhldeptis and the theme for our discussion was synergy and wholeness. While I had not forgotten that Mom would be leading the discussion, I had kind of pushed what Gyhldeptis was all about to the back of my mind. So it was still kind of fitting and coincidental that I had written something about wholeness, or the lack thereof, the night before.
I had likened how I felt about myself with something I had learned in yoga. One of my yoga instructors explained that the average human being used (on average) only 30% of their lungs to breathe. She invited us to think about how much more efficiently our bodies might function if we used just a little bit more. And recently, I’ve been feeling like I’m only using 30% of my soul – that something is missing, or buried, and that I lack vibrancy and wholeness because of it. I think much of this is left over Japan. I don’t regret my time there – I really did love it – but I do think that I did damage to myself by living there. Japanese people never tired of being good hosts, and so I made concerted efforts to constantly be a good guest. But it is difficult to live as a guest for two years. Whether due to the language barrier or because of my own desire not to be what might be considered offensive, I lost my voice – my ability to express myself in a way that I was used to. I find myself limited in this capacity even now – day to day interactions are easier and I ramble as much as I used to – but I experience things that I simply don’t have words for anymore.
One of the women in our group mentioned that some philosopher or wise-person or somebody said that all stress originated from trying to do the impossible. I thought this was interesting because in Japanese, the phrase for “don’t stress out” – “muri shinai de” – literally means “do not do the impossible.” I went to Japan looking for something – this something that I have always felt was missing, the thing that keeps me from feeling as though I belong, the thing that keeps me wandering. I didn’t find it; and though I found other things, I feel slightly foolish for thinking I would find it outside of myself.