Home Away From Home in My Head
Recently, while deeply listening to music and engaging in meticulous reflection, I came to a stark realization. Nothing groundbreaking, but certainly noteworthy. I came to realize that, for as long as I can recall, I have been bestowing life upon an internal critic who resides within my mind. Obliviously, I would instinctively play the role of a self-appraising judge who would pore over every word I spoke. Anytime I made a statement, answered a question, told a joke, or commented on matters at hand, I would immediately be met with a gamut of possible criticisms and judgements from a semi-unconscious part of my psyche. I would then address each and every one of these possible negative reactions I could dream of, one by one, producing what I considered reasonable rebuttals, framing them in context, ensuring their readiness. I would amass a versatile arsenal of pre-emptive vindication in anticipation of any one of my words being deemed as inapt.
Once I became aware of this, my initial reaction was to favor the possibility that it was an unhealthy practice born of improperly processed emotions. Perhaps there is a modicum of truth lent to this idea, but I did not take long to recognize that there is more to it than that. The critic/judge is only one facet of my extensive internal monologue. There also exists an open minded peer, someone who is eager to listen and honestly respond. Someone who can assist in the unraveling of uncertainties, and help dissect complicated emotions. For as long as I have been relentlessly criticizing myself, I have also been persistently fostering a foundation for a better understanding.
I have always, to a certain degree, lived partially within spaces in my own mind. I can retreat to mental spaces that I have assembled over time, constructed from thoughts associated with specific locations/events and their accompanying sensory experiences. This combination would overtime yield an intangible place I could mentally occupy whenever I chose to do so. I inhabit these worlds in my mind and engage in extensive inner monologue. I have conversations with myself, attempting to reach some level of understanding.
The emotions and thoughts associated with these mental spaces are vivid and detailed, and they have always served as a home away from home in my head. The spaces are always comforting, a very tranquil place; peaceful contentment sewn in a somber and delicate cascade of invigorating vapor from a reservedly exuberant overcast sky, carrying with it, a kind and gentle life-giving philosophy. Vivid images of something like a quiet and peaceful suburban neighborhood in the late afternoon during autumn. The streets would be lined with large, old trees, their branches mostly bare. The sky would be overcast, but not stormy. Just a still, peaceful, somber tranquility hanging in the sky. Every surface would be wet from recently fallen rain, scattered about were many leaves baring autumnal colors, piled on the soil and grass and firmly bonded to the streets and paved walkways. The air was cool, almost cold, but not to a degree that would cause discomfort. Instead, this cold and moist air would host the scent of rain, and provide an enlivening, energizing, and profound jolt of vitality. A spirited iridescent effervescence that would bolster both body and mind. What a nice place to talk with a friend, to hear a familiar voice that speaks words of encouragement and listens with absolute attentiveness. Blissful reverie.