Stability on a Cliff

Stability is a good thing.  I appreciate it.  I really, really enjoy the fact that my life makes sense and it is stable and I am honestly happy.  And I am generally okay with the fact that I beat down my emotions a little bit to get them to fit into a stable life, because it's been a very long time since I can remember my thoughts even remotely resembling something stable.

Let me clarify this simply, once and for all: I am anything but stable.  And I like that. I'm okay with not being able to rationalize my emotions and I enjoy my occasional wild urges to disobey convention.  I've learned to reign them in and frolic in the thoughts, which is enough for me.

But I sometimes think, like tonight, that stability has stolen pieces of me away.  I used to go on walks, especially in the winter, and cry.  I had no reason, but I would just cry, because I liked the tears, and they made me feel alive when I felt barren. I miss walks.  By myself or with others.  They're part of what made me who I am.  Nothing, even now, makes me feel as alive as a good walk.  That's how I got to know you, if you remember.  Walks bring back memories and give root to new thoughts.  They make me feel better.  And I miss them.

And maybe writing this here is merely a passive-aggressive way of telling you that please, I want to take walks again, and that please, I want you to come with me.  And in a sense, that's the reason I started writing this.  But that's not the whole point or anything, I'd just really enjoy it.  Please?

Stability also stole my writing.  I don't really blog anymore.  Three times (including today) in this entire month, that's all.  That doesn't count as blogging anymore.  I don't know how to write about my feelings because they're no longer so vivid or poignant as they once were.  I read one of the most truthful pieces I've ever written and shared again today, and I wish I could still write that well.  But there's nothing for me to draw from in that way.

Stability has made me boring, and that bothers me.  I don't focus on the wreck of my emotions because my emotions are no longer a wreck, really.  My life has become mundane and regular.  I still have highs and lows, but they are dampened, and the glimmer of rebellion in my soul is displeased with this.  There is something in the pure recklessness of what my life was that I am sad about moving past.

So in a way, this goes back to something I've said before.  I need a new source of adrenaline.  My pain is no longer so bitter, but my joy is never so incredibly uplifting as it was then.  And while I like this stability quite a bit, I do miss that range of emotion.  I don't really feel alive anymore.  I feel like a machine designed to do work.  My space feels like a prison.  It's all work I like and a prison I am very much at home in, but I still want to run as far away from it all as I can.  Please, please tell me how I can have both.