I’m starting to think there is no answer.
When I’m muddled and staring at walls (as I’m prone to do) I like to ask myself simply: “what do I need right now?” It usually jumpstarts the self-parenting part of my brain, which pulls my body into the kitchen for a glass of water, or to the bathroom for a shower. When I have the sense to answer the question, the real answer is usually liquid (and—surprise—never alcoholic).
But these days, the question reverberates without an answer. Instead, I blink like a not-yet verbal infant, pacified by the screens that contain me. I’m familiar with the floor, combing the shag of the rug more than I comb my own hair. Is the blankness worse than it’s ever been—or do I just have more time to notice it? Either way, I’m fresh out of ways to water myself.
So what should we do on days that feel like a wash? If we can’t decide what we need, should we keep pushing furiously against the hours? Do we check off a list, hoping one hits the spot? Or do we ignore the question, skulking deeper into the corners of the internet?
What do I need right now? What will make this all right? I’m angry at myself, and getting angrier, for not knowing the answer.
But today I thought:
Do I just need to ask myself a new question?
Next Steps: Drink a glass of water, take a shower (because of course), and write down three questions that might be more helpful to you today.
What in heaven's name do you need? (AUDIO)