An Unexceptional Blog

This summer, I’ve awakened.

I realized that if I live my life giving actual value only to things that can be understood, quantified,  empirically proven, or replicated, I am missing out on a lot of what life has to offer. 

When I walk into a forest, it gives me a feeling. I feel how old the forest is. I feel its peace permeate my consciousness. I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to slow my pace. I feel a kind and calm energy replenishing my own. That feeling is real. Though it can’t be counted, touched, or re-made in other conditions, it is real, since I feel it. 

When I make my daughters’ lunches for the following school day and I look at the filled compartmentalized tin boxes before closing them, it gives me a feeling. I feel like a small part of myself went into those boxes with everything else. I feel that my hopes for each of my girls’ following day are tucked in between cheese cubes and sliced grapes. That feeling is real. Though you can’t scan for it, though it cannot be seen and measured, it is real, since I feel it.

When I sit on a chair, outside, in the still of the morning, tea in hand, it gives me a feeling. I feel that my tea never tastes as good as when it is made by me or my other half. I feel like with every sip I am strengthened, I am prepared for the day that comes. I feel the warmth of my drink awaken my drive, ambition, and determination. I feel the silence of the moment and let it calm my thoughts. That feeling is real. Though you can’t catch it on camera, thought it cannot be given a size or a weight, it is real, since I feel it. 

When I learn about the plant life in the forest behind our house, it gives me a feeling. I feel a connection to my ancestors who had knowledge of their medicinal uses and their folklore tales long ago. I kneel down to take a closer look at petals or leaves to identify them, and I feel my ancestors kneeling beside me. I feel irrevocably part of nature, instead of being a spectator of it. That feeling is real. Though you can’t put your finger on it, and though it defies explanation, it is real, since I feel it.  

When I don my armour, my corsets and skirts, it gives me a feeling. I feel the corset lacing on my back and it makes me strong, assured, and confident. I feel the swish of my petticoats and skirts and I take the space I need and I don’t apologize for it. I feel connected to my truest romantic self, and to generations of women who lived in carefully made sustainable clothing for millennia. I feel power in my stature emanating like a warm gentle light. Though you can’t tap this power, though it will never bring a lightbulb to life, it is real, since I feel it. 

All of these feelings are real, and true, and there, and valid. It is an important part of my lived experience. How liberating and deeply empowering it is to be able to make this world-changing call: little old me, a very normal person, can decide that this feeling matters, that this feeling has a say in how I want to live my life and in the choices that I make. These feelings matter, they have value, they count. Limiting my lived experiences to what can be proven is like funnelling what I perceive through a filter: this is real, that is not real. But this filter throws so much of what life has to offer away. 

Don’t worry, dear reader. No, I am not giving up on the modern world of science, medicine, and data. No, I am not about to discredit the work of hundreds of thousands of scientists and researchers. Yes, I still believe in logic and rationality and the progress of humanity through science.

 To these beliefs, however, I will gently but intentionally add the belief that there is meaning and power in feelings, especially those you can’t quite explain. My intuition, my power, my feelings, my magic, whatever you want to call it: it isn’t unusable data. It is real, dear reader, because I feel it.