20. The Lackluster Riddle
- lifebyriddle
- Jul 31, 2023
- 7 min read
Young, dumb, and confused.
Blog Overview: Distrust / Financial Insecurity / Spiraling
Artist Spotlight: Marcos Guinoza
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Currently, I’m “homeless” and so deeply unsure of anything. I have a million tasks on my to-do list and I haven’t crossed out a single one. The Vision is inundating me, but I’m so thoroughly unsure of how to laser in my focus because I have financial obligations that require the majority of my energy. My inner-child begs me to stop working 40-hour weeks because she’s so exhausted. She misses the freedom of living on Big Island, never having a boss to answer to nor any obligations preventing her from dancing 6-10 hours a week.
But that’s no longer possible. Well, it could be if I returned to Big Island but it’s no longer nourishing. The Divine Father within reminds my inner-child that this current chapter is devoted to resetting the foundations. It’s about organizing myself into a new kind of stability, one that has a bit more predictability. And unfortunately, I went so out of balance with my finances and the material realm that I must sacrifice working on my creative outlets until I stabilize in more solid foundations.
The anger bubbles up so quickly when I say that. I’m sharp right now. Not sharp with my awareness, but with my entire character. The financial struggle is settling in on me like a jagged jacket. Quick to frustrate, I feel less like myself and more like my parents whose entire motive was to feel secure in the material plane. I’m angry that I barely have the resources to write this blog.
My mind is in a fierce battle with my nature, desiring some formula to feel settled. It’s perplexed and wired in a replay that won’t satisfy me any more than it did when I was originally discontent.
I feel God laughing at me…in the way a wise elder would laugh at a teenager who is flopping around like a fish, trying to figure out how to navigate hormones. And the reason the elder is laughing is because they recall the days that they too had raging boners and didn’t know how to direct that energy. Or felt angry with their best friend and avoided the conflict due to trauma. God laughs at me with empathy.
Dearest child, why so serious? You mustn’t figure out anything. Could you not simply rest in my arms? Do you not feel me all around? God seems to tell me.
Part of me does recognize how ridiculous it is to wallow. My June Full Moon post was entirely devoted to the topic of alignment, yet here I am one cycle later, totally lost. How strange. How inconvenient.
Since returning to Kaua’i two Full Moons ago, I’ve managed to save up enough to buy a car, which I now call my home. My 2009 Pathfinder takes me to work and serves as my kitchen and bed. And I secretly hate it. I hate feeling so ungrounded. I hate how suffocating my mobile life feels. I hate that my trunk is my roof when it rains and that I have to reorganize every time I want to find an outfit. I hate the shame that comes up when I give a false home address for tax records and the DMV. And I hate remembering hate. I thought I had unlearned it.
More than that, it’s that I don’t have a reliable and consistent place to create. The thick streams of tears that have flowed down my cheeks this last week have mostly come from having to turn my back on my life’s work (my book, ecstatic dances, etc.) in order to get my finances back in balance. Kaua’i living is pricy. I’d love to have daddy solve this problem for me, but I won’t indulge in my wounds. I know better than that…
My views are incredible though. I’ve been falling asleep next to a cow pasture surrounded by the sort of silence that feels like an escape from hell. I could fall sleep on any beach tonight under the stars. Dinners on coals from a fire? It’s my favorite way to cook, but I resist, preferring to resent this current lifestyle, even though I honestly prefer a more natural environment to rest.
Kaua’i is a sanctuary, but I can hardly access this because of my inner turmoil. I’m free as a bird, but blind to her beauty. I’m longing for a home, but doubt I’d feel that peacefulness of “home” even if I lived in a mansion. I’m choosing an addiction to struggle, resisting the gift of this chapter…as if I know what I actually need.
The hardest part of life right now is being entirely full of contradictions. And having more excuses than motivation. I’m devoid of peace, teetering, and out of trust.
Then I look around or close my eyes.
What am I chasing?, I wonder. Where did I go? Why am I creating from this distrustful energy?
That brief pause creates the levity I most need, but it’s short-lived and soon enough I’m back in the confusion.
This is happening live, this lackluster version of Riddle.
But I’m seeing it for what it is…a necessary experience. Rather than numb myself and bypass my confusion, I’m riding the waves, knowing that this too shall pass. Actually, I’m tumbling in them quite clumsily. And it’s a 20’ swell kind of pounding. The first wave of the set knocked the wind out of me. It came out of nowhere and I floundered helplessly, ill-prepared. As much as possible, I’ve been present through this living hell, popping out of the white-wash for a quick breath, witnessing my intensity, before the next wave of the set wrings me out. Then the next. And the next.
I’ve been driving in circles searching for somewhere that feels a bit more peaceful. The heat irritates me. The traffic noise irritates me. My own disposition irritates me.
I’m frustrated by my “fair” credit score because I crashed it from “exceptional” with my irresponsible, immature, and disorganized days on Big Island. I’m angry with my past self for not being more forward-thinking.
Why didn’t I set myself up for success? What do I even have to show for myself? Why did I swing so far on the pendulum? In my past life, I was successful by many standards. Valedictorian. Master’s degree from the 2nd best public university in the nation. A plethora of awards. So much validation….
But it was all for want. I simply couldn’t live in the grind any longer. The go-go-go was crumbling me to the ground, so I abandoned that lifestyle, and escaped to an island to rediscover myself. I burnt bridges with myself and got so lost in my own convictions that I couldn’t even acknowledge the impending crash and burn.
I went from a very predictable and secure life to one that makes absolutely no sense. I was easily paying off rent/expenses four years ago, but I had no clue who I was and how I was behaving habitually, thereby limiting myself. Then, I tore my ACL for the 4th time and Kaua’i forced me to acknowledge the sad/angry/chaotic/messy parts of myself. I began meditating. Journaling. Getting curious. Reading books on codependency. I quit drinking. Took a lot of psychedelics during COVID. Spent all my unemployment money on art supplies and found the greatest fulfillment in my Piscean creative side. Then a voice in my head told me to move to Big Island. I ended up in Puna, one of the most impoverished places on the Hawaiian Islands. I got by on $60 (or even less) a week. But I dove deep into new areas of study, relishing in the countless offerings and workshops. I danced my prayers and explored intimacy energetics. I found new aspects of myself that had been muted since the days of my beach-blond ringlets.
The escapism…the flowy version of myself who was totally subject to the wind...is as detrimental as the conformity.
What does the escapisms look like?
Well, it’s mostly a shameful sob story. 27-year-old Riddle lives on the Hawaiian Islands. She wants a patron. She wants it easy. Life was so easy on unemployment during COVID. Those were some of her first years of freedom…and boy was she given a false example of life.
There are no systems within the System that will radically provide for the artist’s lifestyle. It’s too hippy, too gypsy. This version of Riddle has been too impractical, believing herself some exceptional genius who deserves to be taken care of, who never wants to endure hardship. She’s so self-absorbed that she can hardly acknowledge the comforts she does have.
She has a memory from around the age of 14. Her mom’s words still ring in her ears: “…and his daughter is 27-years-old, works at Starbucks, and lives at home.”
Well, here I am. 27-years-old. Works at a smoothie shack and lives in a car. Seems like something mommy would critique, right?
Why is that memory glued to me? It could’ve been lost to time, but it’s clear as day, fortified in me.
Did I enact this story in order to prove my inherent worth even at my lowest? Am I working for minimum wage even though I have a higher education just to experience how justified I feel in my extremes?
I don’t feel ashamed working at a smoothie shack. I actually love aspects of it. But I don’t feel energized. I’m building a false sense of security with my meager wages.
Ah, that’s just the third cup of coffee jitters talking. I know that I’m starting small and building from legitimate yet humble beginnings. I’m just frustrated…
I’ve not necessarily found more clarity in writing this post. I guess I just want to make space for my inner-child to feel safe in her confusion. Honestly, this is a great opportunity, being this close to my pent up, fretful, clinging conditioning.
I feel relief. Some distance from my turmoil. My lackluster life wants to be seen and acknowledged. I guess what I really want to convey is the distress of being human. No matter what, I will long for more.
The confusion and the dis-ease are distrust. I want the distrust to have its place but not consume me nor rule out an alternative.
It's a trip being a “writer”. You can’t hide from yourself. And you find that you no longer want to any more.
So, here’s to actually feeling the confusion rather than pretending it’s not there. And here’s to seeing the light on the other side.
I’m in the 11th hour. The darkest of dark nights where all seems to crumble. I’m hopeless and can’t see the alternatives yet. But I have the tools and support systems. And I’m certainly not alone in tis.
Love,
Riddlez
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