Anyone who knows me well, knows I am the epitome of hyperactive. My mother tells this anecdote about me. I must have about 7 or 8 years old when I asked her what hyperactive meant, because I’d gotten so used to hearing the word thrown around and being used so frequently to describe me. She turned to explain it to me, to find me sprawled diagonally across the dining table, lying on my stomach, legs curved upwards trying to touch my head with my feet.
The situation explained itself.
Growing up, the inability to sit still and wait for anything was my biggest undoing. I was so used to rushing through it all. Feverishly getting through dance and music lessons, hungrily finishing books, running through tests and exams and invariably making careless errors, changing my mind about decisions that involved waiting.
Old traits, they never really go away. I’ve probably experienced some kind of stillness in fits and starts, and for short bursts of time, but my personality is still inherently hyperactive. Restless. Not in the habit of waiting patiently. And so when I find myself in situations that require the ease of letting go, of giving in to the forces that be, and believing that in the waiting is the fruit of some situations, I’m at a complete loose end. I haven;t felt this way in a while, simply because there has been little waiting for anything the last few years. The busyness I harp on and on about has crept into my life so deeply and at so many levels that there has been literally no time to sit around waiting for things to happen or wondering what next.
Right now I feel like Im sitting on a vat of hot, boiling ambiguity. And I’d really just like someone to help me get off and run. VC and I have consciously made some changes in our life, to shift gears a bit and seek a new kind of experience. Change is never easy. And the good kind of change even more more so. Nothing worth doing or seeing or experiencing ever comes easy, I know. But really, I’d like a sign of some kind. Some indication of where I’m headed and what is to come, and I promise to sit back and then wait patiently for things to unfold.
The only way to make sense of change is to plunge into it. Move with it. Dance with it. Or some such. It seems. Those are Allan Watts’ words, not mine.
I’m finding it incredibly hard to fling myself into the throes of ambiguity. It’s a challenge to let go and be open, yet watchful and aware. To give into the flow, but always be ready to receive. To be vulnerable, but ready for whatever lies ahead. But by far the hardest thing to do has been to get myself to learn that there is no way to hasten this process.
On the outside here I am trying to re-teach myself some stillness, some peace, practicing positivity and affirmation. But on the inside, nothing has changed since that day in Bangalore when I asked my mother so simply, “Amma, what is hyperactive?” — still sprawled diagonally across the dining table, lying on my stomach, legs curved upwards trying to touch my head with my feet.