it is no longer an isolated event something that we are safe from if we live in a small town if we are in a house of worship if we are middle-aged and live a quiet life if we are young children obtaining an education
it is so commonplace that new cycles don’t have a chance to complete before another incident takes the place of the previous
we no longer know names or circumstances of victims or purveyors of American carnage
(gods forbid that you should be traveling in coach: non-white non-Christian non-cisgendered non-hetero non-rich non-powerful)
a small but powerful minority the greed visible in the whites of their eyes holds a nation hostage for the sake of filling their pockets and cementing their egos
and our parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and friends and neighbors and goddamnit our fucking children have no chance to say goodbye and still we do nothing
I am tired tired of feeling sad tired of feeling helpless tired of feeling trapped with no recourse tired of my anger overflowing and pushing me closer to the low road
but I am also blessed beyond words beyond my ability to describe far beyond what I would think I deserve with a partner like her
a partner (a friend) who listens to me without judgment or complaint a partner (a friend) who I can be completely open and honest and myself even in the worst of my moments a partner (a friend) who just by being who she is can make me forget the tumult and negativity put me in the eye of the hurricane of the world if only for a moment if only for days at a time
little things like Post-It notes on the door that I don’t see for days songs labelled with “(lyrics)” distracting videos of cats of ridiculous humans of roosters screaming in her backyard
and so this is a prayer of thanks to her to let her know how much she means how much she is to me especially next to me in the darkness
imagine: being gifted with words and the ability to listen no fear of asking for clarification a desire to know and to teach any who share the same
music theory binary algebra the psychology of criminals and the virtuous quantum mechanics perhaps even hypotheses surrounding unsolvable mysteries magic the truly unknown expressions and verbalizations for any and all
and then imagine: waking to find oneself with another one who is even easier to communicate with that one with an innate maybe supernatural connection
two notes on the guitar that sing just so puzzle pieces that click together without effort or search the perfect word to complete a lyric potassium chlorate and friction
thoughts travel without words or newly invented terms or misused or mistranslated or mangled or made-up
but trying to tell the world those close and distant those near and far to shout from the rooftops to send out email newsletters or family correspondence ‘zines mimeographed pictograms smoke signals
all media fall short systems and processes fail
the most important thing for me to share how wonderful the universe is with you in my heart that message is trapped with us in our penthouse residence atop a modern-age Tower of Babel
as long as you hear my declaration there’s nowhere I’d be happier to reside
a solitary beam of light a bridge from heaven to earth Bifröst connecting the ears of gods to the seemingly empty stage
silence builds and is broken gently a lonely and haunting melody swelling, ebbing, cresting, falling sweet bowed strings or perhaps a tender reed
minutes pass perhaps months and the tune morphs seamlessly building upon itself looping back echoing changing all while retaining the theme
and then
a second voice is present weaving in and out providing counterpart harmonizing creating tension providing resolution as though the second voice had been present all along
both instruments distinct yet indistinguishable within the moment individual moving on their own in unison with the other
the listener allows themselves to float to be absorbed to be carried along passed back and forth handed between the tones like a newborn like the rarest of flowers softly, lightly, gingerly
and as the tide carries them the duet has become an orchestra countless tones and chords singular authors unable to be particulated a pillow of song large enough to comfort an entire hall
the sum of two instruments so much greater than the pieces when played with the rarest of connections of understanding of hearts forged from the same starstuff
“Your friends will know you better in the first minute you meet than your acquaintances will know you in a thousand years.” ‒ Richard Bach.
Random but connected (at least in my head) thoughts:
There’s something odd about being an introvert — that weird paradox in which most people are exhausting after a short conversation, but occasionally you find that rare bird that you can spend infinite amounts of time with and never notice that days or weeks have passed.
Connection is incredibly odd and seemingly difficult for someone like me, but the converse side of that is that it’s immediately recognizable when it manifests.
Some connections are strong enough to overcome seemingly anything, even if those connections change their definitions over the years.
One person’s moving too fast is another person’s letting nature take its course. And while I can see see the outside perspective, the only points-of-view that really matter are the internal. At least, if both parties are honest and self-examined.
Balance is the key to success. The proper mix of complimentary and challenging, common ground and exposure to new and different. And if I could define “proper mix”, I feel like I could make a living writing shitty self-help books. Maybe I should give that a shot anyway…
There are reasons — some good, some bad, some utterly incomprehensible — why there are age and/or experience limits on a lot of things in life. You’re more likely able to appreciate the consequences of smoking that pack of cigarettes you just bought, or the potential perils of firing that gun that you own. Whatever industry or career you’ve chosen to spend time pursuing, experience makes you a more efficient and smarter performer. The more time you spend behind the wheel of a car, the more you learn to react to any situation quickly and smartly.
I’m not a believer in fate, or pre-destination. I think finding out that that idea was rooted in a universal truth would probably be the end of me — why bother and all, if it’s already written in stone? Not to mention that I see too much injustice and unfairness in the world to even begin to accept that narrative.
I do, however, subscribe quite strongly to the ideas of good and bad timing, of being in the right place at the right moment, of recognizing opportunity when it is presented. I think said recognition comes with age and experience.
I think also that the ability to take advantage properly of such opportunities is dependent on age and experience, as well. Had I been handed the chance to earn millions of dollars coming out of college, I would have likely screwed it up or (worse) become jaded and entitled. I simply wasn’t in the right mindset to handle such responsibility or such reward.
There’s a certain naivete that I carried through a lot of my young adulthood — likely a result of my (overly) romanticized view of life and it’s larger arcs. Things like jobs and property and creative pursuits and relationships were supposed to happen a certain way if you did x, y, and z — that’s the way it is in movies, and TV shows, and books. And when things didn’t happen how I expected (spoiler alert: pretty much all the time), it was a huge shock to the system. Disappointing, sure — of course it was. But also stunning, inexplicable.
Fortunately — and looking around, believe me when I say that I recognize my fortune here — I never expected answers to be spoon-fed, nor did I expect the same actions to generate new and different results. I questioned others about the perceived failures. I questioned myself. I had conversations — some easy, some incredibly painful and self-image puncturing, always educational — and did reading and thought and pondered and probably overthought and over-pondered and then finally learned. Sometimes in a burst of inspiration, sometimes so slowly that I didn’t recognize the lesson for years, but always — and I continue to do so — learning, so that the next opportunity wouldn’t fall prey to a mistake.
Or at least, not the same mistakes I had already tripped over. Always make new mistakes.
My first real relationship ended not only poorly, but in such a way (due to the particulars of my understanding of the world, and myself, and the way relationships are “supposed to work”) that I was left with little to no sense of identity. This, in many ways, was probably the best thing that ever happened to me, because it not only forced me to evaluate and rethink almost everything that is important to and about me, but also slapped me in the face with the realization that the world isn’t as simple as parts of me had always imagined (or at least hoped).
And so the years passed, and I made many, many more bad decisions and unforced errors and questionable (at best) calls. And I continued to examine the history, and the factors external and internal, and to glean what I could from mine and other perspectives — where I had chosen poorly or behaved inappropriately, where others had, where scenarios were simply untenable and how to better recognize them.
I realize that I am not perfect — or to avoid using that loaded term, not where I would like to be in terms of my insecurities, my abilities to react to and manage certain events, my presuppositions and presumptions and prejudices. I still have a ways to go with those things and more, and I spend at least a small chunk of every day working through those issues and trying to be more my own ideal. But I do have a much bigger toolbox, and a much more expansive guidebook, and enough experience that I can handle the smaller things without devoting any energy to them, conserving my efforts for the bigger, more difficult ones.
There’s this idea that certain endings are predestined — because all previous attempts at a given outcome ended a certain way. Beyond rejecting the idea of a predetermined outcome, I refuse this thought — perhaps as a result of my desire (need?) to believe in some part of my younger romanticized comic-book version of the world, no matter how small, but also because while my past is littered with examples of failure, those examples grow less bitter and painful with each passing year.
I have never been a physically graceful or gifted person. It took me ten years of playing soccer before I felt remotely comfortable on the field (never great, but passable). In 35 years, I’ve never become more than a slightly-better-than-average guitarist or pianist. To this day, learning new skills involving my body — dancing, playing drums, yoga — are embarrassing and horrifically frustrating for me, because apparently I sacrificed most of my physical IQ in favor of other attributes (and if anyone can help me figure out what those are, I’d appreciate it). But I wanted to play soccer, and so I kept trying to be better in different ways. I wanted to be able to play guitar, so I kept trying different practice styles and techniques. And one day, I stopped failing at both enough to be happy with the results.
If I had met Natalie a decade ago, I would not have been ready. Five years ago, one year ago (though that last one is technically incorrect, as we met about two years ago, IIRC) — the time (and my head) weren’t right. I had more to learn — about relationships, about myself, about the way I react and relate to others, about what I control and don’t. It’s not an age thing, but an experience thing.
And my experience tells me I’ve never felt more loved or cared for, nor happier or more whole, and capable of generating a different outcome than expected or predicted — one more in line with the better version of the world that I refuse to give up on. If there’s anything that is worth fighting for with everything I have and then some — well, like Vonnegut encourages: “And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.'”
It seems like it should be simple, to look. Just to look, to shift your eyes inside your head, aiming your gaze.
But then at some point the fear kicks in, an absolute gut-wrenching terror that comes from out of nowhere, no warning, no slow build that rises from your heart and courses through your arteries, following the path of the adrenaline swell. Your eyes come up from the ground and you think that maybe you’ve finally conquered it and you’re almost there and your knees go limp your gut a knotted mass of flesh and blood and bile your brain screaming and pulsing…
As a child, you stared at the sun, directly into the blazing inferno, only for a second but long enough to make out the body beneath the corona. Blue spots for weeks and even now you are haunted by the dreams of a world ablaze, your corneas melting and the beauty of the fire blurring through waxy vision; but that one moment was worth it, because you saw a truth, an underlying foundation of the universe that has left you questioning. In that moment of clarity, wheels turned and tumblers clicked and the key seemed a little closer to your young grasp.
And the wisdom that comes with age carries fear and hesitation with it. Never since have you dared another glance, because that would mean the chance of something bad, something horrible, something with embarassing questions and answers.
What if, at the exact moment of your death, you are granted the truth, the meaning behind life and living and the universe? You are presented with the underlying patterns and their meaning, the tapestry of the mysteries and an instant and utterly distinct understanding of it all. And perhaps this answer is the gift of death, the reward for accepting and letting go, releasing your spirit to whatever comes next.
And what if the answer to the ultimate mystery and death are inexorably intertwined? What if you can have the answers you want, but that’s it, the end, no more for you you been here too long time to go now?
What if looking at her face means the same thing? What if nothing ever seems the same, what if your eyes are burned beyond use, what if beauty loses all meaning? What if hope dies?
And you wish you could travel back in time, become a child again, only for five minutes, long enough to look into her eyes and see the truth.
I’m staring at your face your beautiful green eyes the smile that rarely disappears the soft billowy dirty blonde hair your freckled cheeks your smile lines your perfect lips that inspire a million kisses
an old picture from across the country across the years that captured you at your best
I’m hearing you snoring gently a room away post-coital nap coiled so loosely in my bed on my pillows
your hawaiian tattoo stark against your porcelain skin so peaceful and relaxed cat curled at your spine
(I love the suddenness of your curves and the softness of your edges)
I want to share everything with you I want to experience everything with you I want to feel everything with you I want to travel with you discover new places and music get drunk and gluttonous learn to cook and to dance laugh and be astounded and awe-struck
see the northern lights be struck speechless by the grand canyon experience the wonders of ancient cultures hear our favorite music in foreign theatres
dream big or dream home or dream of both at once because you feel like both
I’m staring at your face your beautiful sleeping eyes a smile hidden for the moment replaced with what I will imagine is contentment soft billowy dirty blonde hair splayed across a pillow your freckled cheeks aglow in the soft light your smile lines at rest your perfect lips that inspire a million kisses
and I am whole soft keyboards shifting effortlessly cello beds laying a foundation an echo of effortless but impossible guitar lines
and I am whole streaming poetry that saved my life lyrics that speak my thoughts better than I could ever hope to Palahniuk repetitions and King campfire storytelling
