overflow

I was sitting at dinner tonight having a heavy discussion with my dad when I was struck with an image. I saw a delicate pottery bowl with a beautiful glaze reminiscent of a blue tile-bottomed pool. In the bowl, which was deeper than a normal bowl, was crystal clear water. If the bowl was set down and still, the reflection from the glaze would make it hard to see the liquid therein - it would be just one fluid piece of mass. But if you were to pick up the bowl and try to walk with it, the water would start to move around the interior, banking against its perfectly smooth sides, gaining momentum with each step as it would slosh forward, then back, then forward again. At any moment it would threaten to break over the side of the dish, to make its presence known on the ground or surroundings outside of the glazed haven it comes from.

How then to keep such liquid still? How then to prepare the world for its inevitable overflow? How then to prepare yourself?

temporary

these walls carry the proof of where I've been
joined together by a door added after the fact
I had a vision of what it would look like so many months ago
And now here I sit, the lines in rust and green,
ready to let it go

So much of my life this year has been temporary
A stop for a moment before stepping into the unknown
Surrounding myself with those I love the most
But in the end having to move away,
I can't imagine the day

When these walls cease to bear where I've been
When they're blank or covered up with someone else's things
To drive away with the burden of past and the blank slate of tomorrow
with my life staying here, while I go there

In the end I know the truth isn't temporary
Its veins run deep in the lives of those I love
No matter where I go there is home in each of them
Only this I know, only this I know

need

I wrote the following post yesterday. It was one of those days where I cried big sloppy tears for feelings I couldn't ignore one minute longer. In the morning I cried silently, working away at my desk, and felt better by the afternoon. Last night, I cried loudly, I gave myself permission to really grieve for all these things that have happened in the last year - both my own experiences and those I have born witness to both here and abroad. Today I feel so much better - but I'm giving myself permission to post about the reality of yesterday as a tribute to the 2 year anniversary of this blog. Many people don't understand blogging - they don't get baring your soul to strangers (or loved ones who might read, for that matter). I can't say I totally understand it either. I don't even know who reads this anymore that I might censor my words for if I realized they'd see them. The point is, I'm making peace with my yesterdays, with letting them be, on the page. Two years of yesterdays marked today. It's been a blessing, to say the least.


June 2, 2008
I have far more love in my life than many people I'm sure (and if ever there were cause to quantify, I'm sure far less than others). The point is that it's there, it's present in family and friends and the romantic affection of a few - more than I recognize and certainly more than I know how to draw on when I need it most.

This past year has, in many ways, kicked my heart's ass. As above, I feel I have to post the necessary disclaimer: it has been kicked far less than many others. The pain I know pales in comparison to many, it would be disrespectful to compare it to the loss and the grief that others have experienced in their own hurts. But to me it is real, it is pronounced, it is disorienting. It has bubbled up in a redefinition of family, first by those around me, and then by myself as I tried to make sense of an absolutely new familial landscape. It has been in once again having fallen in love, and then, with an explanation that feels far from valid or to reflect the strength of the love I hope to give and someday receive, having fallen out of it. It has been in the wanting to turn to my pillars of strength during these times, and seeing them withered in the paralysis of their own hurts and life's challenges. It is the ultimate feeling of at times being without the strength of the most important ties of a lover/partner and family.

So I've looked elsewhere for comfort, sometimes demanding it from those who have no responsibility to provide it, or else taking it in bits and pieces, knowing full well the temporary security such offerings provide. Such things, invariably, come to an end. What remains amidst the fractured ties, the mini-flings, the hot-prospect projects, is friendship. There is no lack of wealth therein. And yet in my attempts to escape my grief, I have called on my friends almost exclusively for fun and light heartedness - for small adventures and days of laughing till my stomach aches, rather than the assuredness I desperately seek that if and when the shit hits the fan, I won't be alone. I have rarely let myself cry to them, or even in front of them, the shame of such fractures somehow too great to let the cat out of the bag. Of all my flaws, I think this is perhaps the worst - to not be able to let your guard down to those who have the strength, love and the confidence in you when you need it most.

the heart hurts

I am never more present in my life than when I am in love. It's as if the tendrils of truth that make up my person unfurl one by one as I meet and fall for someone new. Lately, however, I have begun to question these most cherished moments of falling. I've started to tell myself that they were not the real deal, that I will know it when I see it but I couldn't possibly be where I am today, more or less alone, if they were in fact real...for what type of person would have let them go? I dwell on this more than I should.

Still, while romantic love continues to befuddle me in its complex application in my life (I swear, this blog hasn't even scratched the surface of the crazy that is me and men), I will say I am learning more about love amongst friends and family these days than I'm sure I ever have. Perhaps learning is too strong of a word - that would imply I've come to an understanding about it all. An understanding beyond the necessity for constant grace, openness, honesty and from time to time complete and utter humility in order to truly love, and be loved by, those around you. I would like to say that I work on this daily, but I'm not sure I'm at a place with myself where I can truly offer this to those I love. I do know I try. I try so hard when confronted with someone else's pain or struggle. The compassion switch in me electrifies and I pull out each and every experience and understanding I can provide in the desperate hopes of alleviating the heartache. If I could paint a picture, it would show me literally taking a scoop out of my heart and presenting it, palms open, to whoever it is that I love so dearly allowing me to bear witness to their brokenness.

But can I ever really bear witness when I am so very bad at showing my own brokenness? I can remember only a handful of times when I allowed myself to truly wilt in the trust of someone who loves me, pushing aside my assumption of their judgment or pity long enough to bask in their compassion and grace. It is a fine line to let those whose opinions mean the most to you catch you when crumble. But I know now that this is the essence of love. And I would never hold it against someone I love that they from time to time fall apart - it makes them more human and radiant and dear, if anything.

I don't know how this ties in to the beginning of this post. Perhaps my detachment from romantic love stems from my need to more fully understand the fundamentals of love as a whole. Thank God for the gracious beings sharing their stories around me as I take a temporary hiatus from my own heart. I'll get back to it someday, I'm sure.

loss in action

She's my friend, and she can't stop crying. She's had her heart broken, her worst fears realized and it caught her totally off guard. I don't know what to say, what to do, I'm tip-toeing around trying to respect her needs and not knowing what they are. And how can I not know? I KNOW that pain - I know the devastation of the relationship you've put EVERYTHING into falling apart. How did I get through it? My self-preservation mechanism went into full effect last night when she came home in tears - I'm so afraid of confronting THAT pain again - not even in myself, but the fact that it exists at all. It's almost worse when it's happening to someone you love. All I want to do is say "It will be o.k., you'll get through this," but it's too soon for that. The shock needs to subside first, and I don't know what to say in the meantime.

the missing piece

As summer draws to a close I am forced to face facts: this hasn't been the best of times for me. I haven't been able to put my finger on it since I've been home, but there have just been too many mood swings, too many mornings when getting out of bed has had the same appeal as licking the drain after a garbage man's shower. My parents and boyfriend have taken the brunt of it - whether dealing with my moods or accepting once again that I just don't have the emotional energy to actively participate in the phone calls that keep us sane. During my time away from home the moods have lifted. I had a blast with friends in Portland (that post never did make it up but perhaps the pictures will eventually) and Southern California, and with the Frenchman in Alabama last week. Each time I return though I'm caught off guard at how quickly the dark hole of an unidentifiable oppressor seeps back in.

Tonight I figured it out, and while I wish I could say it was due to my own soul searching and insight, it was more the result of listening to one of my cousins bring me up to date on some recent events in her life. In the process of dealing with the sort of craziness that is only born of love and family, she's had to revisit some aspects of her past that she's never laid to rest. During this process (being guided by a therapist) she was asked to identify her "safe place." Listening to her story I realized that my anger and anxiety this summer is a direct result of having lost my own safe place.

My grandparents house is on the edge of a field and sits beneath the watchful eye of Jack's Peak. There has always been a magic to this house, whether it was the smell of rose pedals as we crushed them with the ancient mortal and pestal that Grandpa had dug up, or the feel of the orange shag rug beneath our feet as my cousins and I danced to "Sunrise, Sunset," played by invisible hands on the electric organ. The walls have absorbed decades of family songs, and bear the faintest traces of generations being lulled to sleep next to a crackling fire in the living room. For as long as I can remember I credited the family this house fostered as the greatest blessing in my life. I saw how special my grandparents legacy was, how with a quick stroke of an e minor chord, we'd all chime in on Grandpa's favorite song. I have always known that not everyone has been lucky enough to know or appreciate this magic.

When my parents decided to move into my grandparents house (at that point vacant for 11 years since their deaths) I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, we were leaving another home I'd loved, on the other, I would now come home to the place I'd always identified as home in my heart. My relationship with this house revolved around the core understanding that no matter where you go, you have a place to come home to where you can regain a sense of peace. I think I've needed that more than ever coming back from South Africa, and I just haven't found it. The memories are feeling more and more like exagerated assumptions and the ties I thought this house represented appear fragmented. It's too confusing and painful to explain in depth, but perhaps recognizing this loss is the first step in overcoming the powerful sadness that has accompanied all of the daily blessings this summer that I have not been able to focus my energies on. For in times of sadness, the blessings never go away. They're there, almost taunting you to get the hell out of your clouds and back into the reality of your life. If only you knew how to make that reality feel more like home and the safe place it used to represent.

falling slowly, and slower still

(Please play before continuing with this post - sometimes life just needs a soundtrack, just ask Cameron Crowe)


Every so often in the midst of life returning to wharp speed and the inevitable heart breaks and joys that ensue, you have to take a moment to think of where you've been. And when you've been half way across the world, immersed in the reality of lives so far from your own comprehension that you still can't wrap your head (or your heart) around where the differences end and the shared humanity begins, you really need to take these moments. They'll catch you off guard - the emotions, the longing, the guilt - so you just try and take it all in as it comes. You attempt to ascribe some sort of definition based on the life you find yourself back in - be it in your relationships, in the lyrics of a song that showed up at just the right time, or in the picture you've framed so you see it first thing in the morning and remember where you were. In this mess of emotions you realize there is no sorting it all out afterall, so it's time to start sharing.

You need to start sharing.

"Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice"

saying goodbye

When everything is going right, when the hopes and dreams you have sent out into the world are starting to form into bits and pieces of true matter - this is when you realize how far behind in the whole process your heart can be. Or perhaps finding a place on a scale of life, what was and what will be, is the wrong way to look at it. Perhaps the so-called pieces of our hearts don't follow any sort of time line at all. Perhaps they cling to a time, to a place, to a person and no matter how much we advance or evolve in other areas they stay among the sediments to mark a moment in time which left to our own devices we might choose to leave behind. But there they are, in the flesh, saying sorry and taking a stand for a time when hopes and dreams were just that - mere images of a life you hoped someday to live.

There's something missing here - some insight I feel at the tip of my fingers but can't find. I guess sometimes you just have to say goodbye, and accept that you'll never really understand how this piece of yourself works at all.

the tears of life lived

Today was a day of sifting through things that were once a part of my daily life. I unpacked our storage area and priced about a million odds and ends for a garage sale tomorrow morning (well I wish it was a million odds and ends - even if I sold everything for a quarter I'd be in good shape!). Tonight, my roommate* helped me start loading up my room - taking all my sacred boxes of pictures and journals and art down from the top of my closet to get them ready to send on to their next resting place.

Regardless of whether you've laid your head to rest next to all these things every night for a number of years, it's usually only when you move that they get the love they deserve. I've come across letters I've cherished since high school. Journals full of teenage angst and the absolute explosive joy of first love. Artistic endeavors, friends now lost, trinkets collected around the world - all mementos I've carried from home to home to home.

I'm letting go of a few. The music box that plays "You are my sunshine" that the first (and somewhat only) boy to break my heart gave me on my birthday because it was our song - it's going in the garage sale pile. But there are some things, like the letter that my brother Todd wrote me on my 16th birthday that makes me cry just holding the envelope for all the love it holds inside, that will be packaged oh-so-carefully so that they can be stumbled upon once again when I figure out where I'll next call home and bring tears to my eyes once again.

And when that happens, there will be a whole new set of reminders of this time to accompany them. Pictures, and cards and music - the things that remind me of where I've been these last two and a half years - and the six before them - of the people who shared this time with me, the tasks I undertook - the heart aches, the celebrations, the losses and most importantly, the gains.

But the best parts - the things that transcend all these mementos I'll take with me are the voices I'll continue to hear (though sometimes now by phone), and the trips we'll continue to take, and the celebrations we'll continue to share. Because these eight and a half years have been life being lived, and you don't leave that behind - you take it with you.




*The Frenchman asked me the other day why I call her my roomate, and not by her name. What he should really ask is why I don't call her my darling dearest most wonderful friend - because that's what she is. But because that might make me sound suspiciously non-hetero, I stick with roomate, because this girl has lived with me, and trust that my point comes across :)

having said goodbye

I just got back from the funeral for my ex's (J) dad. It was a beautiful service - the words were profound and it was filled with love and forgiveness and celebration of life. J opened it up with two songs - he sang perfectly, I cannot imagine what kind of strength that took, and he maintained it throughout the service. A family friend gave the eulogy - a tribute to his dad's faith and the belief that he has moved on to a more peaceful place. A family friend read a letter he'd prepared before his death directed at each of his children and grand children that recognized their strengths, some of their challenges and the importance of sticking together and supporting each other as they all grow. J closed the service with some words about the last few months with his dad, what it meant to him and to the family - and read some lyrics he adapted to honor him. I was, and am, amazed at his strength.

I struggled when leaving to know whether I should go to the reception afterwards. I had the opportunity to see a number of family I haven't seen in ages at the service - and it would have been nice to have caught up a bit with each of them. But I couldn't stop crying, and I wasn't sure if J's "girlfriend" would be there or not. His sister has told me they don't really like her, and I didn't want to create a situation where she would feel any more uncomfortable than she might already (they didn't always like me when we dated - now they love me!). I only worry that his sister would think I didn't come because I had something else I needed to do (she said as much when I left the wake early yesterday to attend a dinner I had scheduled) - so I left messages for both her and his mom to send my love and hopefully convey my best wishes. I hate that it's so complicated for me to simply lend my support during this time - but I'm trying to respect the feelings of two people very important to me who likely have conflicting comfort zones. And at the same time, I'm trying to deal with my own emotions of having seen the absolute best pieces of the person I've loved most in this life, and know that he's going home with someone else.

My mom asked me if it made me second guess being apart - the only way I could respond is to say that if that was the J that I got to be with - strong and emotionally available - I could have never walked away. But somehow all those best pieces of him (and all the best pieces of me) only seem to thrive when we're apart. I can't quite wrap my hands or heart around that fact - so I'm left with the heart break that you only feel when you love someone that much, and you don't have license to show them anymore. I can send him all the messages of love that I want - but in the end, he's going through this on his own, with his new support system, and I'm just a bystander.

help

I just received a call from my ex's sister - their dad passed away yesterday. I knew it was coming but now that it's here I have no idea how to support them. He didn't call and tell me, and he didn't answer when I called. I have a feeling it's easier for him if I don't go to the funeral, but I don't know if deep down he'd want me there. I know his sister would but she said she'll know I'm there for her if I can't come. I don't have the slightest clue how to navigate this. He has an on-again/off-again girlfriend so I imagine she will be there for him, but he's such an emotionally closed person I can see him pushing her away. It seems like there should be some protocol - like I shouldn't ask any of these things and I should just go and pay my respects, or I should just stay away, out of respect - but in situations like this the caution I choose usually ends up feeling like I have no social graces whatsoever (even though I'm attempting to respect the needs of everyone involved). I have so little experience with death - I hate that I don't know my way around it when all it should really be about is loving and supporting the people that have experienced the loss.