okay, so now what?
on the silence in between the seasons
I just finished a project I’ve been working on for a while. It was defined by the sweet stillness of summer: nursing a seasonal latte in a Toronto cafe that was objectively too cool for the likes of me, the hum of engines, planes and cars and trains taking me wherever I was supposed to go, not realizing the lateness of the hour, given the delayed sunset. I had my head in the game. I anxiously waited for feedback - does this sound like this, or more like this? Does it completely suck? Then, I started from scratch and actually felt better for it, but not for the reason you might think. It was because I was afraid of being finished. I was afraid of being alone with my thoughts.
I realized, much to my dismay, that I don’t know who I am outside an external goal. I host and attend a lot of events that require me to introduce myself, and I lost track of how many times I said the words Hi, I’m Samira, and I write and teach and read. There is no version of me that is not productive or purposeful, whatever being purposeful truly means. I am not defined by my personality or likes and dislikes half as much as I am by what I do.
I’m not going to lie, it kind of makes me feel like a loser. I feel like the single female equivalent of a father in a sitcom who is never home because of work, but then the running joke is that his job is probably not even that serious. When I talk to my friends, I feel like the loser with no hobbies, nothing that “lights my spark” or feels “adventurous.” The only thing I do is write. I’ve been writing every single day and now there is nothing left to write. I’m writing this Substack post as a coping mechanism, like borrowing a cigarette from a friend when you told everyone in your life that it was quitting time. I’m going to finish writing this blog post and then turn off my laptop, and the silence will be right where I left it.
On top of realizing that I’m not cool, I had this epiphany that I am not that smart. This is because I stockpile every intellectual or critical thought I ever have to be used in my writing. I think deeply about everything, sure, but then those thoughts kind of pool internally and overwhelm me until they ultimately spill out in some exorbitant display of emotion and dissatisfaction. I often triple-check the things I say before I say them, and then I say them anyway and they feel dull and clueless and lay on the table before me like a half-eaten portion of French fries.
And I guess I’m just wondering where things go from here. I have been reflecting on my life in The Grand Scheme of Things and realizing that I feel completely lost. I wish I knew how to just let things go and patient and kind enough to discover myself, to give myself grace. I wish the things I posted on Substack were the things people liked to read. I wish that I could feel special and excellent without waiting for someone to tell me that I am special and excellent.
Sometimes, I don’t feel like the best writer. I have to Google synonyms for words because I don’t know many fancy ones. I read novels and think that the person who wrote whatever is far superior and that I should stick my head in the sand. I read essays on Substack and wish that I wrote them. It sucks that I only really love one thing, and I’ll never truly know if I’m even good at it.
Mostly, I feel sad. I don’t know. Everything has kind of been a let-down. I was really excited for The Life of a Showgirl and I kind of dislike it. Nothing good is on TV. I need to start a new book. I probably need to see my friends or get out of my head or go for a run. The seasons are changing. When I take walks at night, I’m struck by the slight chill of the wind on stretches where I need it the most, coursing through my hair and tickling my skin. The moon is waning gibbous. According to an aptly titled website, this means that we should “surrender and trust in the natural cycles of life. Just as the moon continues its journey towards renewal, we are reminded to trust that everything happens in divine timing.”
This is the part of the essay where I’m supposed to flip the switch, detail some profound lesson. There probably is one: I should relax. I should be a little nicer to myself. Maybe that will happen in divine timing, like all other things. For now, maybe there’s something to be said about feeling a little lost. Lifetimes ago, the moon and stars served as a compass. I guess we’ll have to see if that remains true.