Crashing Without Knowing How to Land
On finding comfort when we crash and making friends with the waves.
Where did I go wrong?
This, a question I’ve asked myself more times in recent days than I’d like to admit. I don’t know where I went wrong. It always feels like everyone else is two paces faster, as if everyone else is strong enough to get back up. In other words, when they crash, they know how to land. When you know how to land, there’s no need to worry— you’re capable enough to safely stand on two feet again.
“I’ve said a few times that I’m afraid of falling but not of landing. And the difference between this crash and landing is that landing means that you can take flight again.”
I wonder, then, if I am the only one who crashes, picks herself up, then crashes headfirst again.
What I’ve realized since then, is that I’ve always compared crashing to falling off of a bike: The first few times you crash, you’ll cry, scream, and bleed. You’ll need someone to help you get back up and bandage your wounds. But the more you ride, the better you get— you’ll fall less, and even when you inevitably do, you know how to land and get back up, without help.
For me, it wasn’t ever like that.
I crash and burn continuously. I pick myself up, but the next time I fall stings just as much as the last time I did. For the longest time, and even now, I look at the bike metaphor and ask myself why I can’t be like that and whether I’ve tried hard enough to be like that. Truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever be like that.
But, maybe crashing isn’t like falling off of a bike. Maybe crashing is like the waves. The waves won’t ever stop crashing. They’ll grow smaller and smaller til they wash over the sand and retreat, but they will crash again, and again, and again.
But, we watch the waves in awe, we run our hands through the water, we listen to the waves crashing to feel peace. We find comfort in the crashing of the waves.
This is all to say, may I do the same? Isn’t this what we deserve as well— to feel comfort in our own crashes? The waves will never stop crashing, and likely, neither will I. In simpler terms, the bad days might not ever get better. They are inevitable, and I have no reason to believe the next crash will sting any less than the last. Nevertheless, I am learning that, just as humans find content in the sea’s relentless commotion, I may deserve the same. I don’t have to try to fight falling if it is bound to happen over and over again; I just have to learn to live with it and find the same content in myself as I find in the water.
I’m learning that it’s okay to merely feel. There is no need to stop ourselves from feeling, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. If we try to stop what will persist anyways, we will lose any shot of content we could find in it. When it hurts, let it hurt. It’s okay. We can pick up the pieces tomorrow. Tomorrow will always come. Today, we can cry— and that’s alright.
From Ocean Vuong’s ‘On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous’:
“Too much joy, I swear, is lost in our desperation to keep it.”
August hasn’t treated me that well. I’m often stuck between chastising myself for pulling at my insecurities til they unravel and trying to radically forgive myself. Today is one of those days. I wish I would work harder, but I try to offer myself the same forgiveness I’d offer a friend- it’s alright. I am working to the best of my ability. Time spent not working is not time wasted.
It’s all so easy to say, but I don’t know what else I can do except keep saying it.
None of the lessons I’ve learned and expressed in this newsletter are things I’ve fully internalized. I am far too young, too stupid, too inexperienced, and too unhappy to know whether these things are really true. I have not lived long enough to know if what I’m saying is sound. What I know, however, is that these are the words that soothe my restless mind today, and I feel responsible to pass this on to those who could be reading this. I hope my words mean something; No matter whether it’s disagreement, commiseration, or inspiration- I hope this means something to you.
Here is a playlist I made during my not-so-bright times this year. It keeps me company.
And here is a poem by Ada Limón, entitled The Raincoat.
Today, I challenge you to forgive yourself, find comfort in the inevitable crash, and take flight once again.
You did well today. Thank you for being here, and thank you for reading.
With love,
Aarushi.
YOU ARE INCREDIBLY TALENTED. this is very very close to my heart.
this was so nice to read!! i loved it. nicely framed.
also! can relate to the responsibility of proclamation despite the possibility of naivety. mood