Tiny Thoughts That Have No Place to Go
By: Lara Starcevich
Tags: Memoir, Self Improvement, Journal, Writing, Psychology

Self-improvement

Tiny Thoughts That Have No Place to Go

selfie of author

Life can be tiring and hard, but I like what this writer/improv actress said once (I’m getting too old to remember names anymore): You just start going with it. Just start moving and the answer will come.

Don’t worry so much about making mistakes. If you worry too much then you will never try anything and when you don’t try anything then you’ll never learn.

So like that movie on Netflix about the octopus and the man becoming friends, how do I learn to befriend this wild thing inside me? To stop running away from it and stop attacking it? How do I make peace with this inner octopus. Develop trust? Remove myself when things get too crazy?

I had a dream that I was looking down at a bracelet on my wrist with only one heart on it. The dream was telling me I had to wait. It wasn’t yet time for my heart to meet another heart.

I remember when I was a little girl, I used to love the feeling of being awake at night when everyone else was asleep. I was in 5th grade and I would get this rush of excitement when I knew I was the only one up. Like I could do anything I wanted and I never really did anything but just knowing I could made me giddy.

I was walking today and I noticed the sun and I realized how much the sun was like the sun I used to see when I was growing up in Canada. This cool, clear green sun. This dark green shady leafy kind of sun where the light glistens brightly on certain leaves and grassy areas and windows but then the shadows are very dark and cool and I remember heading over to our family’s friend’s home where they had a very Brady Bunch home where everyone was perfect and well-groomed and mannered and nobody fought or if they did it was about petty stuff like who forgot to push a chair in at the dining table and there was just this loving camaraderie always and it seemed too perfect compared to our family and they had this big black garbage bag material type swimming pool. It was huge and you could stand in it and it rested on top of the ground on stilts and I loved jumping into that pool the most. And there is no point to this story other than the fact that sometimes even just the slant of sunlight on the side of a house can trigger a memory and thank god my eyes weren’t glued to my phone so I could see it.

I’m sitting in the same coffee shop where I used to play guitar for the old people. The old people are still here. I don’t mean ‘old people’ in a pejorative sense. It’s just a fact. I’m getting old also, just a fact. Part of me always wants to leave. I want to move away. Live in a place with younger people. And then I think…nahhh. I’ve got too many roots here. And then I met this woman the other day at a BLM protest who has lived here most of her life. Like 50 years she’s lived here and she’s a hippie, I could tell. And she was like, ‘I’ve loved and hated this place for years.’ And I realized… that’s who I will be in 10, 15, or 20 years depending. And I just don’t know if I can handle that. I miss too many people who are in too many different places. So this is why I write.

I’m sitting in a cafe, because that’s what I do for social stimulation and change and variety. I’m like a barnacle on the underside of boat ramp dock thingy that just watches as the protozoa and spindly things float by and I filter a few in now and then. The music in here is depressing. If I could change it, I would. It’s that song ‘Nothing compares to you’ by someone whose name I forgot remixed by someone I’ve never heard of. It’s comforting but also sad at the same time. Is that even possible? But I can’t leave because I paid for my coffee and all my stuff is spread out and it’s still more entertaining than looking at the same four walls of my bedroom or kitchen or living room.