Today, on this gloomy, overcast, and soupy day in NYC, I feel really good. I don’t usually wake up feeling good. Usually I wake up feeling a sense of doom, related to pressures, insecurities, exhaustion, an overall soul-weariness, and more. It can take a while to get myself up—positive frequency sounds in my Airpods while reading pages of woo-woo books, journaling, meditating—to start to see through a dreamy (slightly dissociated) lens, so I can get on with the day. Usually I’m overwhelmed with how much I need to get done in what feels like never enough time. The emails I need to reply to, things to be figured out, to follow up on. All of this in the context of a world out there full of degrees of suffering that make my life look like I won the lottery. I remind myself of that, as often as I can.
Lately, I’m packing up pre-orders of my memoir. I love to do it, and I’m doing it on my own because I need to think before I write in each one, and I have that Virgo tendency that makes me need to be the one wrapping each book in tissue, including the right stickers, sealing the package, etc. I need to know each one is sent off properly. But also, I’m rushing because it comes out (on Amazon, etc) July 8th, and I’m winging it with promotion and all of that.
I wrote in my AM journal last week a messier version of the following:
Why do I feel so… sensitive… when I receive congratulations, or people expressing excitement for me? It hits that nerve. The pang of hurt when it appears I’m okay but really I’m not remotely okay. What is it want? To be seen? Understood? I know this is precisely the longing I felt in the past, that he tapped into. [Mr. Fox, of my story]. He saw that in me, used it.
I appreciate when people express excitement for me, of course. But there’s more going on, that I can’t quite talk about openly. Maybe I will. Tangible pressures, tangling with some stressful circumstances. Either way. It’s hitting a nerve lately. As if people are seeing a version of me that’s not real—the one they want to see. But I can’t blame anyone. Like when my dad calls, we talk, and he concludes “well, glad to hear you’re doing well!” and I wonder… wait, what did I say that implied I’m doing well? I’m painfully unhappy! and stressed! What? And I know he wants me to be doing well, he needs to feel I’m okay. So it’s okay. I know it’s on me, that I’ve not expressed how I’m really doing. Probably because to do so feels like handing someone a burden to carry.
What is it I want? I don’t want pity or sympathy. Again, objectively, outwardly, compared to a lot of horror and tragedy or illness out there, I’m fine. I’m just tired, and so very badly want to put down what I’m carrying. (There’s no where to put it). To rest. Some relief. Or to be less alone with the pressure. Meanwhile, I need to be alone, on a daily basis. Also, talking about it isn’t what I want. Talking about stressful things currently happening is guaranteed to make me feel worse. I want solutions. Practical ones. And I know (delusionally or not) that it will all be okay. I know that feeling inner peace is useful.
Anyway. I don’t know what to write here on this Substack other than super personal stuff, maybe it helps someone, maybe it’s boring. Writing here, posting on Instagram, putting stuff out there feels weird. Like running outside naked. Here I am! Part of me wanting to be seen, the other part absolutely terrified. Will I be made fun of? Rocks hurled at me? How is this the world we live in now, posting about our lives, like broadcasting a show?? It’s very odd.
The part I like is the connection. That’s the part I like about my memoir being done, landing out in the open. To be picked up or not, read or not. I like the connection. I want it to be useful.
And, back to where I started... for some reason today I genuinely feel really good. Like it's all meant to be. This is the ride I'm on and it's going to be far more than okay.
Also, I love you.
Thank you,
Sarma
P.S. AFter I hit send… I happened to look at my email and saw a news headline about the U.S. bombing Iran. OK. yeah, like I said, there’s a lot else happening in the world, holy shit.
Sarma, I just wanted you to know I'm about 160 pages into your book and thoroughly enjoying it. I was a little worried about its length when it arrived but it's such an easy read that I'm glad it's long. You do a great job there and online of giving people a real sense of you and I think people crave that kind of connection, especially when so much interaction is now virtual and can feel a little impersonal. I'm sure I'll have more to say when I'm done but you should feel good about what you've produced! Congrats.
“It can take a while to get myself up—positive frequency sounds in my Airpods while reading pages of woo-woo books, journaling, meditating—to start to see through a dreamy (slightly dissociated) lens, so I can get on with the day.”
Me too. Definitely disassociated just enough to make it thru the day. Sometimes I cannot drag my self out of bed. I’ve come to accept it as a message : rest. So I do.
🌻