Filling up the hole in my soul seems to have been a full time occupation. So it is a strangely different paradigm not to need to do that any longer. The most obvious way I did it, of course, was by eating the hole full. The slightest twinge of anger, anxiety, loneliness, low self worth, despair, or even boredom, and the food shoveling would begin.
There were other ways too. But I am not going to dwell on them here …
For one reason and another, the low self worth schtick doesn't stick any more. I do not believe it. The reality is, I am not the greatest person who ever lived (who is?) but I am certainly not the worst. In fact, I am beginning to like certain aspects of my character and personality. And the ones I don't like? Even the most pathetic ones – like living to please others? Well, they are not as bad as I thought. Indeed, they are manageable. Sure, when I become aware of them, they are embarrassing, even slightly painful – nauseating – but they are not unmanageable any longer.
Sometimes I am amazed at how pathetic I am. It stops me dead in my tracks and I could swear that my mouth drops open at the absurdity of my feelings. For there is no longer any connection between how I see myself, and the reality of the moment.
I must admit that this shift in me is sort of fun, exciting, and even a little scary. It is almost like getting to know someone new. It means learning different ways of communicating with my self. Or thinking about things I would like to do, or, even, what I need. It feels as if I am stretching out my hand to touch a deflector field – a pliable energy field – an invisible wall of resistance, that ripples through space as I test the waters of a different reality of Self.
Indeed, I am finding other ways of filling me up. There's the usual stuff of course like traveling, tending to plants, spending time with people I love to be with, Facebook, long hot baths, yoga, meditation, walks – you know the drill surely? Did I forget to mention my blog? Yes. Of late, I have been writing less, and playing Scrabble more.
Recently, a friend suggested I try acting as a hobby, and that has me thinking: "Is my life other than work, or is my work my life?"
Much to ruminate and more to discover, and I am only 61.