{ one day, pearls }

i've neglected writing for a long time. i wouldn't say it's been deliberate avoidance. it's certainly not been for lack of things turning over (and over, and over) in my mind. one day there will be pearls from me. one day.

//

i'm the slowest person ever to come around to change. some people thrive on variety and live for the opportunity to be carried on new wind. i'm the opposite. i settle in. i hunker down. i take root. and once i'm here, i'm slow to go. it distresses me, this feeling that i might be the person most resistant to change on the face of the planet. it feels like a gross defect. but it is what it is. in some situations this rock-like commitment to things is beneficial (once i love you, i love you). in others, it's absolutely agonizing (once i love you, i love you, even if you break me, if you destroy me, even then i love you).

i'm also a person who keeps a lot inside, except if i've decided to trust you, in which case you get more than you ever wanted. for the most part i have no idea how people perceive me, but i'd guess unless you know me well, there's probably a lot more going on with me than you suspect. years in ministry and administrative relational work have forced me to perfect a light, airy manner. while i can be an extremely silly and buoyant spaz, i'm naturally a pensive, serious, introspective person.

everything leaves me wanting to apologize:
i'm sorry for being closed off. i'm sorry for over-sharing.
if the paradox is frustrating for you, can you imagine
what it's like from the inside?

//

(this is why i don't write.
because there's too much to address
and no one with enough interest
who will want to listen
until there's nothing more to say.)

//

my mother has now lost her father and her brother within four months of each other.
i look on, beaten down inside, and have nothing to say.
it's the problem with hating platitudes and empty comfort.
when there's truly nothing to say,
i say nothing.

some things deserve swear words, obscene gestures, alcohol swiftly poured.
some things go beyond. some things cannot be touched.
not even with fuck or a hole in the wall or gin, alone, cold, in the dark.

//

i'm paying close attention to what i put into my body these days. the past six months have been so unhealthy physically and otherwise and two weeks ago i finally got sick of not eating all day and then eating too much, sick of feeling like a foreigner in my own skin, sick enough of bad habits to do something about it. i've been walking in the evenings, headphones firmly planted in my ears. i've been eating breakfast. half-portions of other meals. i haven't had pop or alcohol in almost 2 weeks, nor have i had iced coffee (tragic, just tragic). i think i can re-incorporate things back into my days, but first i have to detox. it's difficult for all of this not to be about deprivation. it's difficult not to fixate on numbers or even a final desired physical result.

change. adaptation. new habits, in minute increments.
this, i can do.

//

i will always feel dwarfed by people a fraction of my age who have released albums and started businesses and won championships and made millions of dollars and raised children and obtained academic degrees and bought houses, found spouses, chased and taken hold of dreams. the magnitude of my desires are mismatched with the level of ambition and courage with which i was born. i'm inspired by successful people. they also make me ashamed of myself. they are a reminder of how poor i've always been at promoting myself, how i can barely accept compliments, how little drive i possess.

i think maybe some people were born to move and shake and never be still and make things happen, real, big things that affect tons of people. i think others (like me) were born to have deep meaning to a precious few. we were born to live a profoundly singular existence. maybe the person i will know, reach, and move most in my lifetime is myself.

i am slowly accepting this.

//

arise, go forth,

and fear no darkness.

{ theoden, king of rohan, lord of the rings }