Photo credit: Brett Alan

Maker’s Mark with club soda and lime juice refreshed. Apartment cozily lit and comfortably cradled by the faint hums of city life. MacBook Air pumped to 93%.

This is the calmest I’ve been since May of this year. The most clear-headed as well. Our Founding Fathers were really on to something with their checks and balances: it’s unwise to allow one branch of government to have too much authority. Unfortunately, the United Shitshow of Me was overturned by emotion this year, while my mental and physical entities were relegated to departments run by interns.

I’d experienced this administration before; I’m not a fan.

It wasn’t depression. It wasn’t even big, bad anxiety. It was an unsettling nag that took residence in my amygdala and painted the walls ecru. And didn’t open the windows for fresh air. And only played John Tesh.

On July 17, it was all about the lack of answers surrounding current events and unfulfilled desires. I knew I wasn’t precious, or unique, or alone in my debilitating quandaries; crowd sourcing for that didn’t help. It was about what’s always been eating at me: WHY DO I ONLY GET SO FAR.

What I needed was emotional excavation; the opportunity to put the haunting agony of the past to bed so my present wouldn’t continually halt my future. The Land of Enchantment, to which New Mexico is fondly referred, with its beauty and healing properties, was going to do that, dammit. And it did. But, y’all, it was an ugly process.

There are significant outcomes from my dig that are too lengthy to cover in one blog post, such as the permission I finally gave myself to be angry with my deceased mother (because we don’t speak ill of the dead, you know). Or the realization that I’m pathetically codependent with my partners. But these, and so much more, are based in a common notion. A focal point from which they’ve sprung. The root I never acknowledged that grew unfavorably over 44 years into a suffocating system.


At first, I didn’t believe that this was it. Truthfully, I’ve never lived a day feeling unloved. I was given a phenomenal education, have had wonderful experiences, have incredible people in my life, spoiled…how could THIS be it? Then I allowed myself to actually feel not being worth it, instead of reasoning the notion away.

It was the subtle loneliness I’ve carried for 44 years. A yearning for joy, but not joy itself. The approach of achievement, but not actualizing the result. Watching my life from a precipice.

I finally understood why I only get so far, with anything. It started when I was small. It began when I was shown I wasn’t worth it.

In The Land of Enchantment, my emotional excavation unearthed a demon slayer…and a motherfucking rock star.

More to come.



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