People, They Don't Really Know You

Guess who? Yep. It's me, Mandeebeth.

8 months, it has been 8 months since I even thought about blogging; which is mostly true except for whatever day I wrote the following in my auxiliary to-do list (the list for when I run out of my to-dos).

I ran across it 3 days ago, I'm not sure why because I am nowhere close to the end of my formal to-dos. I'd certainly like to think that the push to come back here would find me regardless of if I have stumbled across this but it doesn't matter much, I knew in an instant that I have known it is time.

Instagram rolled out "notes" (that little box in your messages where people can post status-like quotes). Yesterday, I jokingly posted "I have something to say", the antiphrasis for the nothingness on my tongue, but ironic nonetheless. Somewhere along the late 2022 journey, my soul knew I'd need the nudge. It's not that I have something profound to say or even important for that matter. More like my soul knew I'd have a late night, can't sleep, searching for meaning moment and I'd turn back to the things I know. Why do we get so far from the things we know?

Life Hack: Write something to your future self then marvel at life when you find it at just the right time.

I'm writing this post to the rhythm of Starlight by Jai Wolf as I stare out this window upon a twinkling Seattle skyline. I took these photos this afternoon. This is my home, I live here. It's remarkable to me the twists and turns the last year has taken me through; People, I've been sad. I've been happy. I've been lonely. I've been deeply loved. I've been excited. I've been hopeless. I've been really alive.

I couldn't even begin to fill in the blanks of the 8-month month gap so let's just start with where I am currently. I moved to Seattle in late 2022. Why? No fucking clue. Everything Seattle represents at its core feels like the opposite of the life I desire. I want a beach and sunshine, to live somewhere safe enough for my midnight poetry walks. Seattle is... literally none of these things (lol). BUT I trust myself and the universe. When the call to move to Seattle hit my heart I responded; I wrote "I want to know more than I know right now" in my journal and that was that. I signed the lease in August on an apartment I'd never seen. Move-in date? November and I told no one. Two months backpacking in Costa Rica last year taught me that I can do anything. What I thought would be an incredibly lonely journey into the jungle turned out to be the most life-giving community-building thing I've done. I'm not so naive to think that every adventure I embark on will be viscerally rewarding in this way but I know that no matter what I face, I'll be okay. That is why I decided to move to a city where I know no one. A city that is infamously known for dreary rain, depression, angst & grunge (though I'm assured the summer months in the evergreen state more than make up for this wintering).

The energy reader in me can very much feel this city's dark undertones, the helplessness of a society lost to a drug epidemic, and the ways in which capitalism has, yet again, failed humanity. The first thing I noticed is how people keep to themselves. This is such a stark contrast to my life in Austin where no one knows boundaries and everyone is a "friend". It seems harder to make friends here, but, good!? I only have so much room for friendships and feel fulfilled by the ones I currently have. Also, I suspect that's not why I am here. The second thing I noticed is how small I am in a big city. I consider myself a city girl but I've never lived downtown in a major city like this... I am literally but a grain of rice in a barrel and it's a fantastic ego check.

It's humbling to be somewhere no one knows me. I feel safe to openly and vibrantly express the new me. No shadows follow me anymore, and no outdated versions are being held up against me as a reference. As I reflect on this freedom of "not being known" the very notion begs the question, "Do people really know me?". Like even if I was in Austin, do people know me?

I've had People by Libianca on repeat this week. Something about its sadness brings me back to parts of myself I haven't visited in a while. I'm a bit of a freak but I love my sadness. So yea, me, staring out the window at my new city's skyline in sadness. I even cry! I cry for the release of Austin, a city that has meant so much to me. I cry because I don't know what I'm doing in Seattle yet. I cry because there is a 50/50 chance that this does more harm than good for my mental health. I cry because I miss my favorite coffee shops. I cry because not that many people have checked on me. I cry because a new era is beginning right at this very moment.

Did you check on me? Now did you look for me? I walked in the room Eyes are red And I don't smoke banga Did you check on me? Now did you notice me? Nobody will know the paranoia Cuz I put a smile on my face A facade you can never face And if you don't know me well, well oh You won't see how buried I am inside my grave Inside my grave Cuz you see people People don't really know you

When I make a decision these days I try really hard to make sure I'm doing it for myself, like truly for myself. This is because whatever comes of the choice, it will have been my desire (good or bad) and I can live with that. So, I don't take it too personally that few have checked in and even less so that people aren't invested in this journey with me. I don't have pain or regret for leaving Austin, I know it's always there if I wish to return. I don't discredit the coffee shops here because they aren't Opa! or Cosmic yet my missing of these is valid. When you're not sure why you've been called to an experience, and you're mostly going it alone, it can be frightening. I stand by the idea that everything we want lives on the other side of fear though. This is a lesson life has confirmed to me numerous times. The scared little girl in me can't help but think that perhaps my journey is calling me to a winter season, which, if true, I'll hate to accept. I remind myself that winter gets a bad rap, it's the season that invigorates hope and gives summer purpose. For this reason, I choose to sit in the dark rain and sadness tonight, alone with myself. I figure one of two things; I'll get mentally unwell (though this could happen regardless) or I become friends (finally) with winter and find pleasure in integrating the lessons it teaches.

I think people in my life would be shocked to know my concerns or to know that this thing I've been so confidently guided and excited to do is actually scary. I could talk to Joce or Anna for hours about this and they could offer support but it wouldn't change that they don't intimately know the experience I'm having up here. Also, it is nice to feel all those lyrics (very relatable) but be perfectly okay with doing nothing about it. Emotions are experiences that don't always need actions.

When I come back to my heart space I find adult Mandee. She's here to remind me that the protective parts are only helpful until they are not. She encourages me to return to that safety I've built inside. She's so smart and wise, I'm happy to have her overseeing all these parts of Mandee. She suggests that it's okay if "People don't really know me" and upon further review, I would like to conclude that she is right. No words in the world would provide me comfort for this discomfort I've been called to. I know me, and that is enough for right now.

If Seattle brings up great sadness then at least she also brings a cleansing rain to wash it all away each morning.

Here's to my docs and raindrops era,

Mandeebeth