Photography by D Sharon Pruitt of Pink Sherbet Photography

Sometimes, having a physical form is excruciating. I know it sounds like a silly thing to say, but I imagine that, on some level, it’s a relatively common experience. I feel like this most intensely at times where I’m not particularly busy. Recently, that would have been winter break. When I go back to my hometown for a prolonged period of time, I’m often faced with emotions that aren’t always easy to contend with, and it makes me wonder whether they’re a consequence of the change in my surroundings or whether they’ve always been there, looming in the back of my mind, waiting to find me at my most vulnerable.

The frustrations I encounter during the holidays often have to do with things that I was convinced I had outgrown or healed from, which makes them all the more irritating. It feels like a regression, my sense of self deteriorates a little as I see dynamics I thought I had dismantled take on a new shape right before my eyes. In moments like that, I feel as though I’m behind. I feel immature, like I don’t know myself as well as I should. The constant awareness that others perceive me, and that I don’t know what they think of me because I don’t know what I think of myself, is exhausting. Here is a slightly melodramatic excerpt from a journal entry I wrote over the break:

“I wish I were abstract. Some kind of ever-changing creature, completely in tune with nature. I wish I were a feeling. An expressionist painting, my traits indicative, a suggestion of something or someone. I want to be a breeze at the beginning of spring. A garden. The moment you close your eyes and breathe in the fresh air on a sunny day. A wind.

And it’s silly because I think humans are so beautiful – the way the mind can feel about another, the people you love all in one place, at sunset, the sound of laughter, golden light melting into their skin. Being alive.

I just don’t think we were ever meant to think about ourselves this much. To be surrounded by mirrors, real or metaphorical, our bodies taken apart and judged against a standard. To constantly be thinking about how we can improve and optimize.”

It’s so easy to think others are doing much better than us, being more efficient, when really all we’re thinking about is ourselves. A couple of months ago one of my best friends and I were talking about feeling like we weren’t doing enough, not managing our time strategically enough, not balancing responsibilities with creative pursuits well enough. I said something along the lines of “I feel like more or less all of my friends have their shit together, and while I’m generally fine I think I could be doing so much more”. She replied, “Really? I feel the same way about you”. Our default individualism and obsession with productivity are characteristic of late-stage capitalism and only serve to diminish our sense of self-worth and hinder our personal growth.

A few hours after writing my silly little journal entry, I went outside, sat in the grass and listened to Real Love Baby by Father John Misty. It was a surprisingly warm day for January, and I was reminded that winter doesn’t last forever. Not to quote Ferris Bueller, but sometimes you really do have to stop and look around. Let yourself feel every negative feeling. Think about the vastness of the universe and delight in your own insignificance. You’ll notice your worries will start to feel a little smaller.