reaching out
I run an online meetup group, Journaling for Mad Minds. It takes place later today and the theme for this afternoon's session is “reaching out.” The theme came to me effortlessly when I set up the event – sometimes I just manage to listen well to the undercurrents of my life and to the whispers of what I'm being taught, by the world around me.
I've been doing a lot of reaching out this year, in ways that are relatively new to me. From a veritable homebody in past years, I've morphed into a social butterfly – with outings and coffee dates and dinner dates crowding my calendar week upon week. I've floated suggestions, and pressed invitations, sprinkling the reachings wherever and with whomever I may. It's been fun, and novel, exhausting and energising. Where it will lead me, I don't know. Into another world perhaps, another iteration of my life... or in a perfect circle back to my place on the couch, perhaps.
Stepping into madness, eleven years ago now, was itself a reaching out. Help me. I sought refuge behind every shut door, and bared myself wide open for all to see, my insides spilling out in an ugly mess of need and desire. Help me, please. How different from the experience related to me by a friend, whose mantra of madness seemed to be “just leave me the fuck alone.” Leave me alone to get on with it, without interference. Leave me alone because (I suspect) reaching out had harvested an unendurable pain somewhere along the line. But I digress.
I believe that when we crack up, we crack open. Reaching out to others – that most human of impulses – becomes a superpower of sorts. Although it isn't always welcomed or received graciously. I recall once when I was mad, and sitting with my sister, I reached out to stroke her face, only for her to flinch and draw back. Don't touch me, crazy person. So this memory reminds me that I'm not immune to stings. Reaching out often leads to hurt. It just does. So why do we do it? Why not just settle back into 'leave me the fuck alone' where it's
safe and still
with an icy chill
and a stubborn will
I guess the answer to that question is staring me square in the face: we reach out in order to connect. And connecting with others is bliss, whether it involves a gentle glance of friendship, or a light stroke of affection, or a heated embrace of passion. “Live in fragments no longer,” wrote E.M. Forster. If madness is the ultimate fragmentation, then connecting is the ultimate balm. So I continue on my merry way, during this year of reaching out to my “perfect circle of acquaintances and friends.” I continue reaching out, though it's mad to do so – because I'm mad myself, and it's the best way to be.
Journaling for Mad Minds will take place today at 13:30 BST – please do consider reaching out to join us. All are welcome.
photo by Ave Calvar on Unsplash