Is it normal to have an existential crisis every 17 days?
Is it normal to have an existential crisis every 17 days? Because the more I think about who I am and what I’m supposed to be, the more I want to book a one-way ticket to Costa Rica, adopt a dog, and eat tacos every day until I turn grey.
Maybe half the purpose of existing is to ponder the existence itself. Maybe there are no answers outside of ourselves and the query simply points back to the brainwaves in your mind. Or maybe none of it makes sense anyway because Ra says it’s all an illusion.
Is it normal to have an existential crisis every 17 days? Well, try defining “normal” in a time where humans fear the face of their counterpart and the president is telling me what to do with my body. “Normal” in a time of extremes on both ends that tell the person in the middle to pick a damn side because if we can’t label you or fit you in a box then you must be some kind of strange being not worthy of fitting in.
Who decided that a box was the right shape to fit someone into when last I checked the human form has 5 points like a star. Do you think a star stays up late wondering what it’s supposed to do tomorrow? Maybe for a second, but then I’m sure they remember that all they need to do is shine bright and the job is done.
Is it normal to have an existential crisis every 17 days? Or maybe it just coincides with the full moon and because I’m a Capricorn with Sagittarius rising it’s inevitable that I’ll be hard on myself until I remember that the more time I spend criticizing the less time I’ll spend having fun.
To exist is a strange concept. If someone were born in the woods and nobody ever witnessed their human form, they’d still exist and it wouldn’t make a difference if anybody told them they have nice eyes and a good voice. The trees don’t care if you’re right or left or somewhere in the middle or if you smell weird in the morning or kind of have the urge to shave your head lately.
It’s day 17 and my existential crisis is in full swing and not lightening up any time soon. Give it a couple of hours and I’ll remember that the fire inside me is sparked every time I hug Milan or see my parents for the first time in a while. I’ll remember that I love to dance and talk about politics and look at cute dogs on the street (convinced that they can read my good ~vibes~ because obviously, they can). I’ll remember the dozens of people I have probably changed forever because of my commitment to tell the truth and be my authentic self.
I’ll remember that it’s okay to not know your purpose for 12 minutes of the day and that it’s okay to want to run off into the woods sometimes. I’ll remember that my name is Bella and that means beautiful and even though I don’t always feel that way, sometimes I put the right earrings on and feel like a goddess sent from the heavens who can conquer anything at all if she just remembers how innately worthy she is.
Because it’s impossible not to be perfect. It’s impossible to be anything but on path, because you’re floating through the stars on a pale blue dot revolving around a ball of fire yet somehow you can lay in bed at night knowing you’ll stay put on the mattress.
Your existence is perfect and it doesn’t need to make sense for all 1,440 minutes of the day.
Between now and the second you were born, it’s all been a perfect blob of feelings, emotions, scraped knees, getting picked on in school, and having your first kiss. Every moment brought you to the here and now that makes you wonder how the stars could align so perfectly that you’d meet the love of your life at age 19.
In 6th grade, someone told you had frog eyes and so you doubted the idea that your very presence could move mountains.
Then two days ago you read a passage from The Law of One that suggested the pyramids were built by aliens and you simply thought “yeah, that makes sense”.
If a light being can bend energy and time to build a pyramid that serves as a healing center when the stars align, then you can make it through your existential crisis every 17 days and come out of it with the remembrance of why you are here.
It’s the end of day 17 and I successfully battled my timely existential crisis so I think I’ll go to bed now and hope that the spider in my closet stays put so that I don’t have to worry about his existential plans to commute to my bedside table in the morning.
I’m here because I’m here. And because I’m here I’ll dance and write and sing and give hugs and say no to things I don’t like and be kind to the cashier at Trader Joe’s.
I think that makes for a pretty good existence. I’ll be sure to let you know what I learn at the next crisis in T-minus… 17 days.