November 4, 2015

I Want to Crawl Into a Ball and Cry Myself into a Coma. But, I Guess I Will Fold my Laundry Instead.

What has the world come to?

As I ask this question, it is immediately followed with a sense of doubt. “Am I just getting old?” Has everything become so fluid and permissive that nothing matters?

I have an uncle who talks about the past like people in the ’50s used to talk about the future. It was idealized. He tells me, “Dating was a personal thing. Guys had to work to get girls. Sure you might go to the club and go home with a girl the same night, but it was personal. There was romance and flowers involved.” He goes on to say, “Has everyone lost their mind? The way you date each other is so impersonal!”

We have all lost our minds in favor of artificial intelligence. The elegance of stillness and the fragility of life are consumed by the frenetic war between desiring connection and denying it all in one swipe.

It breaks my heart.

In recent days I have been exposed to phrases like, “I need new d*ck. I am tired of the old d*ck I’ve been f*cking for the last two weeks” and “I have a tongue like a humming-bird and I can breathe through my ears”. These phrases were then followed up with, “We don’t judge or have a filter.”

The sentiment behind these expressions feels violent. Further, these expressions are crass, lude and have a potent dissociative quality to them. It feels like the legacy of violence against each other gets perpetuated through the denial of our power to create.

Maybe I’m out of the loop. I don’t like to get high, get drunk, f*ck random people, or get into debt buying things that contribute to the desecration of the planet. But, I drive a car. I eat sugar. I lust. I sin. I’m a part of the problem while searching for solutions.

I’m guessing I’m not alone in feeling overwhelmed.

Some days, I want to crawl into a ball and cry myself into a coma. But then I remind myself that every action is a contribution to furthering the chaos or to choosing to champion beauty.

So, I do some laundry. I clean my room. I write. I ponder how my life can have an impact. I dream big dreams.

What would it be like if we—those of us with broken-hearts—started to dedicate ourselves to mending them?

What if we started to deny artificial intelligence the right to invade our minds, bodies, and environments? What if paper and pen, books, family dinners and etiquette were once again prioritized?

What awareness do you have that could shift the current transactional ways we interact?

Is self-love just a Band-Aid phrase or an actual solution? Sometimes it seems more like selfie-love. We are fascinated by our own reflection.

I’m pointing out something we know. You know that you want rich, vibrant, meaningful interactions. You want to feel like your life is about more than a crappy paycheck. But, then, bills have to be paid.

Don’t you want to fall in love and stop fearing getting hurt? In order to live you must die trying! Your ego must be bruised to love, embarrassed by your folly, shunned by your foolishness, and offended by your own stupidity to ever shift. Shift away from the mid-line of comfort just long enough to discover the divinity inside of you.

Bow to the guru within.

We are powerful creators. And we keep forgetting.

Life is a paradox between remembering our oneness and being in love versus forgetting and believing we are separate so that we can fall in love.

It is big and small.

So, today, when the world is burning, wars are waging, while some are forgetting common decency, and others are being judged for having discernment, I will fold my laundry.


Lady Gaga says it best: “Yes, I can go to bed with you, every night.”



Author: Rebekah McClaskey

Editor: Caroline Beaton 

Image: Flickr



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