{ 10 / 10 / 17 }

signal

wave across the water for me

let me know

that you'll be waiting ever for me

oh, i've been travelling

waiting for a moment of peace

these stormy weathers

got me thinking of how i want it to be

signal

light a thousand fires on me

give me no doubt

that i'm the one that never has to leave

oh, i've been divided

time and time again you keep the peace

give me shelter

let me be the (wo)man i wanted to be

//

everyone is in the back room taking their lunch and i'm sitting at my desk with a 140-calorie bag of popcorn and saint-saens in my headphones. somehow, even more things have to change.

//

at this stage, that seems like such an unlikely outcome.
but at this stage, any outcome would be as unlikely as the next.
what do you do when you really have no way of predicting an outcome?
you have no choice but to keep walking forward.
to watch the infrastructure of the future come together all around you.

i can't say i like it all that much, but the alternative is to stop moving until something seems certain...and i feel like the only certainty in life is that nothing is certain. ever.

i've had my time not to move.
and i don't want that anymore.

//

feeling many things in this season:
nothing is sure
nothing is forever
i can and should make choices that are healthy for me
^ people may not like how they are affected when i do so
   ^ that is not my problem
it is okay not to know
it is okay to let go
it is okay to say no
it is okay to let my true self show
i am stronger and deeper than anyone really knows
i can change and evolve; i don't have to stay the same
i might not be interesting enough for some people but that doesn't make me uninteresting
i might not be beautiful enough for some people but that doesn't make me ugly
i might be too interesting for some people but that doesn't mean i'm too much
i might be too much for some people but that doesn't make them bad people







//

embracing the new,
the fresh start,
the leaving what was,
the lack of knowing,
the exploration, the putting to rest, the discovery.

{ 8 / 27 / 17 }

standing on the very edge of the dock
water shimmering with movement
no sun
no reflection
let go of him here, he said
leave him here
i closed my eyes and thought,
rip here, and here,
and here
felt him come unstuck in several places,
like velcro
rip
rip
away

driving past the trees and branches
leave him here
so i left him there
changed the contact info from pet name to formal first and last,
deleted the photo.
blank. let his face fade as the trees blurred past.
gone
rip
away

leave this here
leave it here with me

so i leave
so i left.

{ time out }

today was a distinctly good day. it started with a full hour of daydreaming in the cool morning air, watching shadows play on the ceiling. from there it went to clean hair (a rarity these days) to coffee to a kick-ass salad and the smell of towels fresh from the dryer. i wrote letters this afternoon, watched a movie on tv, let the knots of the week loosen and unravel. and tonight i turned out all the lights, lit my favorite blood orange candle, and practiced yoga in the dark to the soundtrack of my own breath. sometimes i need that - to turn everything off but the sensation of being in my own body. it reduces everything to the simplest form for me, streamlines my mind. it helps me to get grounded and calls me to rise higher, both.

//

that being said, and although i often wax eloquently about it, yoga isn't easy for me. i'm not a naturally willowy zenlike bendy person. i'm solid and athletic and compact. i often yearn for the slender limbs of my instructor, since it seems like being less muscular would make many of the poses easier to achieve. but i guess that's the point --- yoga isn't about achievement, which is why it's something i want to keep doing. it's something i can continually strive to do better, but it's not something anyone can really master in the sense of arriving at a point where she doesn't need to try at or do it anymore.

i think maybe there aren't a lot of things like that in the world.

//

[everything after this point is stream of consciousness that is probably more suitable for a personal journal nobody else would ever see...it's not well written but it contains some thoughts and questions that are vital to me right now. if you keep reading, no judgment on writing or style or syntax allowed.]

articulating and maintaining boundaries with people is something i'm working on right now. the need i have to please everyone has shrunk considerably over the past several years, but it's still something i have to constantly manage. keeping a healthy distance from the people i love is a complicated thing for several reasons; one, it feels like something i shouldn't have or want to do. two, i think a common understanding of love is being so close to someone that boundaries don't exist --- i.e. you can tell someone anything, you can call upon her at any time of day or night, and maybe most of all, you can expect that she will drop anything and deny her own needs for your sake. funny, isn't it, that the concept of "selfless" love often means a selfishness on the taking side, with an expectation that the other is the one giving all? and then the giver is in a position to feel guilty if she chooses not to give up on herself in order to give all to another.

i'm not talking about anything new here, of course - but the concept of self and love is tricky terrain for me. i am a high introvert with specific needs for solitude and distance and safe borders, but (for reasons i won't go into now) my fear of abandonment often leads me to disregard those needs in favor of proving my indispensability to others. i've been doing this for the majority of my life and have had to dispossess people of the expectation that i will completely ignore my own needs to meet theirs. it is exhausting, requires vigilance, and is often met with resistance and incredulity. i can hardly blame people - they've become accustomed to my habitual accommodation. building healthy walls after years of letting everyone blast through them to the very heart of me is one of my most important endeavors right now. i think in theory people support me caring for myself, but when that means they don't get as immediate or as big a cut of me as they were looking for, they don't like it as much.

this has made for a handful of uncomfortable conversations lately. in the rougher moments i wonder if the stress involved on my part is worth it - in many ways it would be easier to submit to momentum and just keep behaving the way i always have, making everyone else happy. but when i'm able to persevere through the discomfort and move beyond it, i feel nothing but an undeniable resounding rightness. the problem with setting my boundaries according to what will keep everyone else happy is that i often suffer, and greatly, as a result.

i am not a wildly popular person, but the people who depend on me, really depend on me. i feel the weight of so many expectations and the pressure to perform/entertain/support at a high level - and if i haven't gotten enough sleep or had enough time to myself or a dozen other things that contribute to my ability to function well, i will find a way to show up for everyone else and in doing so, bail on myself. i have to stop doing this. backing the hell up and finding balance means frustrating people and receiving backlash ("why didn't you respond to my email/text message in less time?" "when are we ever going to hang out again?" "why are you pulling away? let me be there for you", to name a few). because the answers to those questions go something like this:

i work a high-demand, fast-paced, socially demanding job that takes all my energy
i know i was instantaneously available before, but that took a toll and i can't do it anymore
i need time
i need space
this doesn't mean i don't care for and love you
i don't know when i will be ready to see you again
you can be here for me by staying where you are for the time being

people do. not. like this.
i don't know what i can do about it.
well, nothing.
unfortunately everyone is going to have to deal with it until i've had some time to recover and figure out what is best for me.
i think it's hard for people to understand that as an INTJ and an aquarius and as the person i am, the more space i am given, the more quickly i will feel ready to let them in. we all (myself included) want to grasp and squeeze the things we love in constant close proximity for fear we we will lose them. but i should know as surely as i know my own soul that holding on too tightly only smothers the thing...potentially to death.

so what can i let go?
what am i holding too tightly that could find its true beauty if i loosened my grip?
what weight could be lifted if i opened my hands?
what wisdom or truth could alight on my hands, if i opened them?
what could be different/better about me if the space i need felt more protected and respected?

{ taking liberties }

i spent the entire weekend alone. i made pancakes, read books in the sun, did hammer curls and sit-ups while watching hours of television. i drank rose at 4pm. i ordered pizza and silenced my phone. i folded shirts, placing them one atop the other, neat slices of cotton.

sometimes i reach out and make the tiniest movements toward social plans. more often than not the text message thread trails off, and i might be the only person in the world who doesn't mind when it does. maybe that's because i know that if i brought my full momentum to the efforts, concrete things would come to pass. somehow i've perfected the art of appearing to try seeing people while remaining profoundly ambivalent as to whether i do or not.

concrete meetings make me restless. as soon as i've arranged them i regret it.
i'm not a misanthrope. i'm beginning to understand that i despise being tied to anything.
i don't fear commitments; i abhor making them.

for so long i thought i needed structure and adherence to something (a schedule, a religion, a program, a plan) or someone (my parents, my friends, a partner). i thought it was in the construct and the connective sinew that i thrived. and because that was how i perceived myself and my needs, so it was. i rarely allowed unprogrammed time or solitude in my life. because to lack a plan or a person for each minute was to be aimless, purposeless, drifting. it was to be formless and unimportant.

it is with relief i am learning that at my core, i'm much wilder than i ever knew. (not wild, per se; compared to truly wild and unstructured individuals i'm probably incredibly uptight.) for the first time in my life, i can sense that my type-A friends view me as foreign: i shy away from plans, i give vague answers to social requests, i regularly dole out "let's see how things go" and "i could probably make that work". a friend told me recently that my comings and goings "seem so mysterious" because when i'm not with her, she has no idea what i do. i believe she said this to cajole me into filling the gaps. (i also believe she said it because my mysterious nature makes her feel insecure about her friendship with me. like, how many other friends do you have? and do you see them more than you see me?) anyone's mistake in trying to manipulate (without malice, sure, but manipulate nonetheless) me in such a manner is that instead of coaxing me to full disclosure or expository confession, it pushes me further into the shadows. reflexively my fists close, holding solitude in my grip, the diamond kernel of my soul spinning faster, smoother, silent.

//

when i was in my mid-twenties i was never alone. i had a boyfriend, i had weekly standing plans with friends, i avoided quiet and rest. my self-worth was tied directly to how busy i was (even at that age i had strong glimmers of self-awareness...from somewhere outside and above my body i observed myself moving so endlessly, and sighed). i created activity and noise to insulate myself. (from what, i'm still figuring.) and lest i completely demonize busy-ness, i think to some extent i was simply being young --- flapping my wings, tirelessly bouncing from corner to corner, face wide open, overly generous with myself and prone to overexertion. my job was easy and light (as easy and light as a mini-career in oncology could be, but still). i did not yet carry the questions and experiences i do now. i had energy left over each day; i spent it all and saved none.

when the boyfriend was no more, things underneath slowed, moving through the cruel gelatin of grief. but on the surface, i only got more frenetic. i was running from the sadness, over-occupying my physical hours and my overwrought faculties. i wanted a drowning that i chose, not the one that threatened to overcome me in my sleep, woke me gasping for air.

all that activity was an effort to buoy myself up. i surrounded myself with an endless ring of people, my human inner tube. i knew i couldn't keep myself afloat on my own. so while in retrospect it all looks ludicrous, like a social circus with a manic ringleader (me), i must bow to the wisdom in those choices, the subconscious knowledge that i couldn't retreat to a cave of pain and heal myself.

//

so it was wisdom that pushed me to dive into community when i was twenty-seven.
and it is wisdom that calls me to stand in my own strength now, at thirty-four.

there are times to take the hands of all who will have you,
to make tearful late-night phone calls that ward off nightmares.
and there are times to clasp your own hands,
to look out the window as dusk gathers and fear no darkness.

{ you look terrific }

{ HEY GIRL HEY }
here's my sunday stripes and flippy hair and perfectly purple-magenta-pink nail polish color half-smiling at you. one of the ways i've slowly (slowly slowly) worked through a good share of heavy shit over the past few years is by learning that when each day feels like a slow battle trying to get over some things and to other things, indulging in very simple pleasures can get you through some of those long hours. over the past year i've been learning about being generous with myself on a lot of different levels. i'll elaborate more later...but here i'm toasting you with today's simple indulgence: a tall salted caramel hot chocolate (it's nonfat/no whip, but it's an indulgence nonetheless and every sip was delicious).

{ CHECKING IN }
my soft resolutions are going okay. this past work week, i bid the day adieu with the glorious pages of a real book from the local library one night, and laid in bed staring at the glow of my phone or computer way too late two nights. so you win some, you lose some --- i don't hold myself as strictly to this soft resolution on non-work nights. i did go to bed at 10pm friday; that counts for something, doesn't it? (yeah, it counts for being a loser. i know.)

i made what i'm going to call a "kind choice" (meaning it arose naturally out of a true desire and includes a disinclination to beat myself up or take on huge amounts of guilt if i deviate from the original plan) to do something active every single day of january. so far i've been able to keep this informal promise to myself and i feel great about that. there have only been a couple days i've really thought about not doing it, but in the end i decided to stick with it not out of a fear of failure, but a genuine positive impulse to incorporate some sort of movement into my day no matter how depleted i felt. things like this are funny and irritatingly predictable: the more you do them, the better you feel, the easier it is to keep doing them. (i suppose i'll take a healthy self-perpetuating cycle --- even if it makes me grumble at its perky, happy reality.)

i spent 4 hours today preparing food for this week's dinners. halfway through, pots simmering, oven firing, countertops littered with jars and spices and knives, i realized that cooking is (finally) starting to come naturally. i still consult recipes and check measurements, but i'm starting to be able to make something out of a bunch of other things without standing there paralyzed trying to figure out the perfect timing of every single little tablespoon. this is another thing to feel great about, and i do.

{ I AM NOT FAT }
during today's yoga practice i arrived in tadasana after having shaken my way through four breaths balancing on my right leg as i held the inner arch of my left foot behind and above me with my left hand and reached forward with my right hand. the instructor said, "close your eyes. find your breath. notice how you feel."

my thoughts were as follows: i feel sweat running down the left side of my neck. that is gross. i feel the waistband of my pants digging into a roll of flesh (albeit a much slimmer roll of flesh than it used to be, but a roll of flesh nonetheless) on my lower abdomen. that is disgusting. i suck. and these pants suck. 

earlier in the session, i'd been given a few different versions of a more difficult pose to choose from; one of the things i like most about the instructor is that she encourages me to challenge myself at an attainable level so as not to frustrate myself out of trying again. despite my usual tendency to go for the highest level of achievement in any given area and burn out if i can't excel pretty close to immediately, i've been surprisingly comfortable attempting the beginner's versions with the knowledge that if i continue to practice consistently, one day i will be able to do the "real" poses. but today i watched her contort her body into the various options and didn't even try...the words, "nope. can't do that. i'm too fat," escaped my lips in a flat, defeated tone.

honestly, it's frightening what a misplaced strip of elastic (and misplaced for good reason, since i'm bending and breathing and twisting and stretching every which way) can do to my mind. my clothing fits me better than it ever has, but the stupid waistband that just happened to lay a certain way because i was exercising made me aware of a yet-untoned part of my body, and i was catapulted efficiently into the tarry briar patch of self-loathing.

after several minutes in shavasana, i flipped over and consulted my twitter feed, where i found this post and was firmly drawn back to reality (truly i say unto you: please read it if you haven't already seen it somewhere on the internet).

i am not fat.
nor do my pants suck, for that matter.
oh, and --- it's okay to sweat. it means i'm trying damn hard and there's no shame in that.

-----------------------

So be sympathetic. Everyone is facing her own battlefield in her own manner. And the only way you can express empathy about another woman's vanity IS TO BE HONEST ABOUT YOUR OWN.

Once you have reached that place of authentic honesty about your own struggle, you will only ever show kindness toward your sisters.

So here's what I do.

When I see a woman who has lost weight, I say, "You look terrific."

When I see a woman who has quit dieting and embraced her curves, I say, "You look terrific."

When I see a woman who has obviously just had plastic surgery, I say, "You look terrific."

When I see a woman who has let her hair go grey and is hanging out at grocery store in her husband's sweatpants, I say, "You look terrific."

Because you know what? If you are woman and you managed to get up today and go outside, then you look terrific.

If you are still here, then you look terrific.

If you are able to go face down a world that has been arguing about your body and your face for centuries, then you look terrific.

If you have figured out what you need to wear, or do, or not do, in order to feel safe in your own skin, then you look terrific.

If you are standing on your own two feet and the stress of being a woman hasn't killed you yet, then YOU LOOK TERRIFIC.

{ Elizabeth Gilbert }

{ the hard things }

before you begin to read this post, know that a.) it's long, b.) it's very roughly written, and c.) when i found myself at the point where the writing ends, i knew there was so much more to say but i simply couldn't go on. i knew i needed to write some of this out after a conversation i had earlier today, and i almost didn't because i think i knew i'd be starting on something that wouldn't necessarily find a timely (or easy) end. but i started anyway, and found myself having stumbled to a raw and ragged place, unable to go any further. this is actually my favorite kind of writing --- the kind that brings you to a place even you couldn't have known you were going, a place you absolutely needed to go, and couldn't have gotten to without just sitting down and letting the words pour out --- but it's also the most revealing and painful kind of writing, for me. all this to say, my thoughts end somewhat abruptly, sadly, and without a redemptive final paragraph. if you're here, and if you make it to the end, you're a dear enough friend or kind enough soul that you will understand...thank you, really, for being here.

--------------------------------

{ TODAY }
today has been a good day, full and also full of quiet.

i organised a matinée with close friends followed by a meal together which started with small talk about our respective holidays. one of the things that puts me at odds with the typical way most people navigate social situations is that i'm only mildly interested in chronological retellings and factual accounts. i much prefer to know what people were feeling and thinking during events. but i recognise that most people need to warm up to deeper subjects, so i do my best to ask appropriate questions and nod in the right places. i'm probably portraying myself as disinterested and rude, and people who know me superficially very well may think me abrupt and detached. it's a common criticism of INTJs: seemingly aloof. but i promise i'm quite interested in people and care deeply about them --- i'm just not a gushy, bubbly, touchy, readily open person. but don't mistake my disregard for social rituals (another INTJ quality) for a disengaged or uncaring spirit. whether i let you see it or not, i am always engaged, constantly processing, and if anything, i care too much about too many things. i'm usually processing and decompressing from any social encounter for hours, even days, after it's happened.

where were we? oh, today.

i came home and went about a few household tasks in complete silence as the early winter darkness dripped slowly from the sky like paint over the edge of the world. when i was ready, i lit a candle and completed today's yoga practice (a 30-day, new-year-new-start project by a yogi i started following earlier this year). it was good. it felt good.

{ 30 DAYS OF YOGA }
i'm not a person who usually makes concrete resolutions (see explanation for that and much more in last year's first post), and although this year is no exception, i do have a few loose ideas about directions i'd like to continue moving in throughout 2015. more on this later.

i never would've decided in advance to embark on any sort of fitness challenge to begin the new year (way too bandwagonny), but when i saw that this particular instructor who i happen to really enjoy (i've determined that at least 65% of sticking with any fitness session depends on whether you jive with the instructor) was doing a 30-day fresh start sort of thing, i decided to join. she's forgiving enough in her presentation not to scare me off ("this is not a challenge") while maintaining enough structure (videos posted at a certain time each day) to keep me attracted. because i'm that difficult person that can usually figure out what she wants once someone tells her what to do (and yeah, i usually end up doing the opposite of what i'm told i should), this is a hard balance to strike.

anyway, enough over-explaining. as of day two, this is what i've learned:

• i don't breathe properly, or nearly enough. in fact, over the past several (very stressful) months, i've found myself on multiple occasions not to be breathing at all. my chest will tighten, my jaw will begin to ache, and i'll become aware that i've literally been holding my breath. i haven't gotten to the bottom of why. i'm an intense person and sometimes i think i'm just concentrating so hard that i forget to exhale. as simple as it is, it's been helpful to have someone encourage me, multiple times over the course of a forty-minute period, to "find my breath."
• i store more tension in my body than i knew. it's a well-known fact that we all hold tension in our bodies in different ways, and apparently holding my breath and clenching my jaw are two of my favorites. in any case, lifting weights and yoga are helping me to breathe, and therefore manage and release tension in my body.
• awareness is key. even at day two, i can feel where i'm consistently tight and also where i'm already starting to release and lengthen. i think a general un-awareness of my physical self is a side effect of having been brought up in a conservative evangelical environment (and i say that without bitterness --- it just wasn't a subculture where close attention to the physicality of self was cultivated or encouraged). i also think my brain, heart, and soul are over-used (i'd even say abused) in my current job, so i'm often focused on restoring those parts of myself and the body falls by the wayside. if only i'd realised sooner just how integrated we all are --- all parts of us. as i've focused more on the health of my body over the past six months, the health of my mind and heart have grown by leaps and bounds. maybe it's just timing, or the result of years of seeking and trying, but health in these two latter areas is something i've been pursuing for a long time. i don't believe it's pure coincidence that tending to my body has launched my mind and heart to better places.

{ THE HARD THINGS }
i found myself sharing some truth with my friends today about what it means to be adopted. one of them, a woman my mom's age who has four adopted children of her own, received my words with emphatic understanding. the others sat quietly, sometimes with quizzical looks on their faces. i'll be the first to say adoption is incredible. and right on the heels of that, i'll say there are things i wish i knew, things i wish my parents knew. adoption is wonderful but, like any big important things in life, it's not to be taken lightly or perceived one-dimensionally. like anything else, it has its ecstasy and its fucked-upedness (please pardon my profanity and my made-up words, sometimes nothing but those two things will do).

i've referenced this before, but being given up for adoption leaves what i've come to think of as a shadow, or a bruise, on a person for his or her entire life. it's a void whose depth and darkness is unfathomable. i believe we can learn to manage and live with this void, but i don't believe there's anything on earth that can fulfill it.

this causes all kinds of complications for reasons you can probably figure out on your own. in particular, it puts stress on your relationship with your parents as well as any romantic relationship you may have.

the way adoption is in our world, people who hope to adopt are usually saving money and undergoing inspections and agonizing on waitlists for months, maybe years, before a child becomes available. everything about this is one-sided. potential adoptive parents build expansive and elaborate mansions of longing and expectation --- how could they not? they place unbelievable hope and love on the idea of their potential child.

meanwhile, the child is being given up, abandoned, fostered, transferred, maybe neglected, quite possibly loved, in one or more environments, none of which are with its biological mother or family. i don't care how young the child is, this has an irreversible and lasting effect. i was adopted as an infant by loving parents and fostered by a caring woman before that. i still believe that being separated from my biological mother in the first few months of my life bruised me in a fundamental way that has shaped how i understand relationship, attachment, and love to this day. in fact, the younger the child, the more primal i believe the bruise to be: how does an infant process or articulate how unwanted, lonesome, and lost it feels?

so you throw these two opposite things together. you put a tiny child in the echoing palace of a complete stranger's hope and expectation (and if it's a couple, that palace is twice as monstrous and unfamiliar). at this point i'm painting quite a dismal picture of adoption, aren't i? to be clear, i don't resent being adopted. i'm thankful beyond expression for my parents. but now that i'm older and have the tools to process and articulate myself, i think there are unavoidable truths about the whole thing that need to be given voice. it's not to say it shouldn't be done. but i'm a person who believes thought and truth are power. had my parents known any of this, might they have handled me differently? hypotheticals don't really work in reverse. but i believe that applied constructively, they can help us as we look forward.

i can see as i begin to type that i have a lot to say, and i didn't share all of this with my friends earlier today, but i did say this: when you have a child without a family, you'd think that child's response to being wanted and loved would be pure bliss and acceptance. finally! someone to hold and keep and love me! while this might prove true for some, for me it did not and has not. i've never really enjoyed being touched. displays of physical affection often feel smothering and embarrassing. (i think part of it is just how i'm wired; touch doesn't make me feel connected to others. or is this a result of what i've been through? i'm not going into the "nature vs. nurture" argument here.) but the void i spoke of --- wouldn't you think that if love came flooding into that empty space, it would be received with relief and gratitude? finally! give me more! fill me up! but it isn't, and it's something we can all understand: when you're struck somewhere, you protect and shield that bruised and wounded place. cleansing and applying salve to it --- things that are meant to heal --- don't feel good. they cause stinging, searing pain. the thing with physical wounds is that as you see and feel them get better, the constructive and lessening pain of healing encourages you to stick with it. emotional wounds are different, and the painful process of healing, especially as a young child and even a young adult, is not as easily accepted or embraced.

moreover, even if your primal bruise recovers enough to the point where it's not crippling, the scar isn't something you want to expose. it's a shadow, a puckering on a part of your soul so deep that it's beyond words, beyond feeling, beyond sound and silence. and when someone (a parent, a lover) tries to see it, to touch you there --- the instinct is to cover yourself, to gasp, to flee.

now you can see the fuck-upedness i talked about: all you really want, more than you want just about anything, is to be seen and touched and loved. but anyone who tries to get close enough to do any of those things, anyone who says i see you, is shut out and pushed away because it just hurts too much. what i must protect my already-bruised self from above all else is further bruising in that same exact spot. the way of the world is to (in all likelihood) love and be loved by more than one person, but that means allowing attachment (at great cost) and surviving separation (deepening the wound and widening the void), probably multiple times. no wonder falling in love the first time, and eventually being discarded by that person, almost broke me. i wasn't built for it. love of any kind dives straight into that darkness where i can't breathe.

the worst part? even if i could let you close and let you stay and let you say those words...for the rest of my life i don't know if i could ever really believe you.

--------------------------------

{ we finally found our way }

i want to tell you a few things:

i am beginning to understand the effect i have on people. i'm tightly ensconced in my inner world much of the time, and i have little belief in myself. so i never imagine that i'm affecting anyone with much force. i think i've really started to come into my powers (sounds grandly narcissistic but i don't know how else to put it) in the past year. with that comes responsibility. it's a massive learning process.

how am i gonna let go

of the only me i've ever known?

{ amy stroup }

today i gave myself a mermaid manicure. i used seafoam-grey polish with metallic silver accents. my hands now move with the momentum of stormy whitecaps and the glint of sun on scales.

loving people, and being loved, is hard. it's impossible to understand how someone deeply beloved can hurt you so badly, so easily. it's also baffling how unaware we can be of people we think we know well. being human, and choosing to bond our humanity to other humans, is a messy business. we tend to press on each others' bruises without realizing it. we tend to let things go longer than they should. the people safest to us are sometimes the most difficult to really talk to. being close to people doesn't come naturally to me. i've always been closest to myself, and as most of the people in my life have moved away or gotten married or had kids, that's something i'm profoundly grateful for. i've always had me, no matter what. i'll always be my own first priority (in all fairness, i know i can't expect someone with a spouse and/or offspring to put me first). it's not depressing. it's not pitiful. it is what is, and i'm leaning into it because i'm a hell of a lot to handle and i'm more than strong enough for the job.

but it's okay to lean on someone else sometimes.
i usually don't do it, because i don't want to risk that when i reach out and make that phone call, no one will answer. but sometimes you just have to call anyway. i may trust the outside world to catch me and i may fall and no net may rise up to let me down easy. that might happen again and again. but you never know when hands may be there, warmth and whorls and acceptance and kindness making a soft giving web of safety that leaves you vibrating with gratitude. so you have to keep falling, into the darkness, broken and hopeful, year after tumbling year.

{ surrender to the afterglow }

i've been emotional lately; just this morning in the weary quiet, tears slipped from the corners of my eyes and followed the curves of my earlobes. they spiraled inward, tracing whorls of cartilage uninterrupted, carrying a sadness back to the depths of me through the hollows of my skull, pathways of bone.

//

i couldn't tell you exactly why i cry, but
i think it has something to do with the fact that i'm growing to be happy
and i don't understand how, or why.

i think it's because i'm finding true love --- the love i give myself ---
and it electrifies, thrills, and terrifies me to be so self-sufficient.

i think it's because a new determination courses through my body,
a will to structure and push myself physically,
and i realize how strong i could be.

i think it's because i live in the past
the worst parts and the best ones
and i am constantly aware
that time is gone forever
there is no going back
i must continually go forward
into the unknown

//

concretely speaking, i cannot stop myself from crying
every single time i read this:

one day, whether you
are 14,
28
or 65

you will stumble upon
someone who will start
a fire in you that cannot die.

However, the saddest,
most awful truth
you will ever come to find ---

is they are not always
with whom we spend our lives.

{ "the awful truth" // beau taplin }

{ f--- it, among other things }

yeah. yeah. it is what it is.


------------------


if i saw you on the street, i'd look the other way. not for any other reason than there's altogether too much to say to ever begin, and i see no point in denying what we both know will always be true.


------------------

the door is open; my hands

fly over the keys like birds.

my mind goes higher still,

above the clouds, across the moon,

clear, pure, unstoppably alone.

-----------------


i've decided to stop giving so much weight to the phrase "best friend." the way we tend to use it often seems overly powerful and exclusive or somewhat universal and meaningless. in addition, i find that as i age and get to know more people from different places in various locations and contexts, it gets harder to truly distinguish which person or couple of people are truly my "best" friends. honestly, it feels exclusive to assign select people that title, and i find myself feeling excluded when i come across it.

even more honestly, the way i think about all of this is directly influenced by circumstances in my past which shaped me into a sensitive person prone to feeling undervalued and forgotten.

there are people in my life that mean more to me than i could easily express. they've come in and out of my life at different times, sometimes for awhile, sometimes permanently. thank you. you know who you are.


------------------

the weird thing about me is

i hate being left behind but

i need a lot of space

i want to be let in but 

i don't want to let you in

i feel your arms around me but

i relish sleeping alone

------------------


i bought flowers for you today. none of the arrangements were good enough, so i bought three of them and made my own. i am good at making things. i am good at making things beautiful. i have the ability to see what something could be and bring it to pass. now if only i could turn this sight and these gifts on myself.

but i am tired and my eyes are blurry. i don't always know how to inspire myself. i have piercing insight and constructive questions for others, but i think my fear obscures me from myself sometimes. either that, or i see myself all too clearly and my flaws paralyze me.


------------------

the rising steam of laundry in the twilight

the clink of wine being drunk at these tables

low voices beneath my window

the hoarse smell of cigarettes, oddly soothing

the slow and steady ripening of the world

rubato of blossoms above and below

the moon ascends and fattens,

feeding on the marrow of my dreams

photo:

from here

pennant:

born here

{ toward being undone }

i stay up until 2am

i read the letters you wrote me in 2005

i toast some bread

i remember the light in your eyes,

back then

. . . still, i'm searching for something. . .

this morning i watched a makeup tutorial on youtube.
benefit porefessional
revlon colorstay
anastasia brow wiz
lorac pro palette
rimmel lash accelerator
mac msf
dose of colors

then i read stories of women in ukraine.

I heard and saw people shooting in my yard.  When the bombs explode, my windows shake like hell. I see smoke and fire from my terrace. And right now I hear the protesters sing.

And when I am home, smoking on my balcony, I think: Ukraine, we are an extremely kind and tolerant nation, but as it turned out, its better not to make us angry. We, ourselves, could never have imagined that we have such strength. We are ready to fight and to die for the basic human values: freedom, justice, and our dignity. We surprised ourselves, but the most important thing is that we are finally proud of ourselves, proud of the Ukrainian people and of our country. Now we believe in our own strength.

[W]e women of Kyiv forgot about shopping, restaurants, fashion shows, and club life. We took off our high heels, and wore helmets to protect our heads from bullets. The beautiful young faces are covered with respirators and gauze bandages. We turned into a kind of civil female front. Our hair smells of smoke and fumes ingrained in our fingers.  It's probably ugly, not fashionable, or trendy. But we never felt more confident. And, as you know, when you feel confident – you are beautiful.

only in this hyper-connected, overly weird world could a person access such triviality and gravity so easily --- almost simultaneously. it's not that beauty itself is trivial --- it's that beauty can have meaning in so many areas of life: in a perfectly styled, artificially lit bedroom. on the battered front of international conflict. our ability to access both within minutes of each other is both amazing and disorienting.

i hardly know how to navigate the disparities of the world (refuse to buy any more makeup, ever? refuse to read the news?). i spent all afternoon and evening yesterday preparing meals for the coming week in a warm, well-equipped kitchen. then i spent an hour deep-cleaning my makeup brushes. when you consider what's going on in the world, what right did i have to spend my time so uselessly?

my world right now is coming down. all the constructs, all the pillars of truth.
i have more questions than ever, and definitely more questions than answers.
i'm not just asking out of curiosity, to inquire. i'm asking because i don't know.
every wall that crumbles reveals a new wing of rooms and corridors,
windowpanes shattered, doors blown out of their frames.
i'm starting over. i don't think i'm in a hurry, though.

see, all this time i thought i was speeding toward a good and finished life.
but as it turns out, a good life is a brilliant, untimed trajectory toward being more and more undone.

{ we are rising suns }

what things will linger

only in memory?

this month i turned one year older.
this month i became more myself.
this month, i wear purple fingernails:
we're going into the third week. i'm on my third shade.

this afternoon i drank champagne.
right now cookies are in the oven.
it has been a time of being kind
to myself.

----------------

what tongues can whisper of coming remedy?

push out the melody

----------------

until this month, i'd been feeling behind:
behind all my friends who are committed, married, and procreating.
behind the people with fantastic jobs and financial security.
behind the couples nestled in newly-bought homes.
behind the people who are happy. who have found their place.

then my birthday hit and i realized:
i am not behind. i am not subject to society or subculture's timeline for a life.
i am not tethered to a conventional trajectory. i am not defunct.
i am where i belong. it may not be comfortable. it may be solitary.
but i am where i should be. so much is not figured out. but it is right.

----------------

what things will linger only in memory?

clocks tick, hands don't move

----------------

i lost my grandpa last week. i saw him in his last days,
shuddered by his bed as he labored to breathe,
tears running in rivulets down my face.
it's not something i'll ever forget.

in the ensuing days, as everything you would expect has rained down,
i've faced so many humbling things about myself. they rise unbidden in
layers, in humid vapors of grief.

i want people to think the best of me. i want to to do what people expect of me.
what my parents think of me, of my actions, is still painfully important to me.
i've matured in the sense that i don't always do what i think they want me to,
and it bothers me less when i realize i haven't pleased them.
but deep down, i still want my parents to approve of me. so much.

in the past few months i've said and done more things i never would've said or done in front of my parents because i just couldn't hold it in anymore --- things like bullshit and i don't want to talk about this anymore and fuck --- and the world didn't end. they didn't disown me. they didn't even frown disapprovingly. in fact, sometimes they nodded and even laughed. and then i laughed, out of nervous relief and with delight at the realization that my parents and i are finally peers. they respect me. they aren't measuring me by obedience or behavior anymore. they are beginning to see the woman i am, the person i've become --- and they accept her.

since my grandpa died, i've said a few really honest things to my mom i never would've said before. i cried as i said them because i was afraid she wouldn't like it. because i was afraid she wouldn't like me. because as my mom is losing her parents, i'm faced with the truth that i will lose my parents one day. i see the care and honor she's given when they've treated her like shit and taken her for granted. and i don't know if i'm capable of that. and i worry about coming up short for my parents when it matters most. i worry about so many things.

my mom saw my honesty and we reached understanding. she didn't disown me. she didn't even make a subtly disgusted (but sharply pointed) comment. she said she appreciated me explaining what i was feeling and that it made sense to her when she thought about who i was. it was truly a milestone for us; i'm not sure we've ever had such a positive interaction about something so deeply emotional.

----------------

i'm going to bed early tonight. the wake and funeral are tomorrow,
with a military burial tuesday. i don't know how i will do.
death is strange. it leaves sticky, raw filaments in its wake.

my cookies are done. i've had the first bite.
i daresay they are perfect.

----------------

are we bursting from the ashes?

all things yearning for the push?

can you hear the ever groaning?

shedding hours we have become?

we are rising suns

we are rising suns

we are rising suns

we are rising suns

lyrics: son lux

rising

{ peace of mind / so hard to find }

i saw a friend tonight. she said, you seem better than you have in six months. i said, i'm better and worse. but yes...better. 

today i drove on the road, past { that place }, the site of so many offenses and all those tears. i felt the old pain somewhere on the far left side of my consciousness, a fleeting ache and then it was gone. i reclaimed that stretch of road and made a mental note to do the same thing for many of the locations that have housed loss for me and continued to be flagged, forbidden, difficult to revisit. i must revisit those places. i wasn't strong enough before. now i am a new woman, and i can walk the charred ground without choking on memories of smoke. for some reason this is important to me today: reclaiming what was ruined. i don't need to see wildly good things happening in those places yet. i just want to neutralize them. it's high time i begin to breathe more easily as i pass through the parts of the world that have come out from under me. at this point in time, no one is keeping me from doing that but myself.

we all have to let go of things in our lives, i said. it's hard for everyone, but it's especially hard for me. or maybe everyone feels that way. she looked me in the eye and said, at least you know that about yourself. and it's not a bad thing, you know.

i smiled at her. yeah. i guess it's not. i just take my time.

take the time you need, my friends.
really learn what you need to learn.
don't skim over the things that hurt.
hurt your hurts. get to know them
so that when the time comes to say
goodbye, you know exactly what
you're letting go. give pain the time
it needs to be heard. then it will leave
you, knowing it served its purpose.

{ i should've known }

this morning i thought, i should've known you weren't done hurting me. that you'd get some more mileage out of this tired broken situation, that you'd throw your jagged weight around a little more, that there was still some momentum in your fists. then it seemed melodramatic. then i thought about how much i've lost at your behest, and it didn't. i thought any power to hurt me had been sapped from your hands, but your sorcery knows no bounds. i don't think i've given you any of the power you've displayed recently. if anything, i've gained considerable ground of my own these past few months. i've relinquished nothing. i can only surmise that you must know you're about to lose me forever and this is your last surge of darkness, your last efforts to embroil me in another half-decade of crippling loss.

as tragic as it would be, i feel the shadowy appeal of that idea --- of the ashes in my throat, the heartless plodding forward, the desperation of a fatal wound, a soul's propulsion off-course, weaving erratically, plummeting downward. i feel the pull of pain. it's compelling. loss is my friend, stumbling around lame has become easy, yearning hopelessly for brighter days is what i know. it's terrible and sick, but in a way i want all that back because it's familiar. i know who i am when i'm hurt, i know where to hide, i know what songs will lull a pinched and shaken mind to sleep.

i don't know who i am right now, i have no fucking idea what to do with this strength. what happens when shit explodes and i accept it and calmly set it aside, patiently ready for the redemption that i've always had to wait and work years to find? what happens when humanity lets me down in the most tragic of ways and i blink silently because, well, that's to be expected, but i'll kindly return to my own enlightment now, thank you very much? what happens when the work of my hands and the legacy of my heart is blasted to nothingness and i stand there weeping until i hear the echoes of industry and formation ringing back to me from an unbelievable, thriving future?

in these moments, the comfortable dark of i might never recover strokes my arms, croons my name, calls me friend. the hard, sure brightness of there are greater things yet for you sounds strident in comparison. i want to lie down, i want to be lost, i want to be held. flinging myself forward, finding my way, and embracing what's ahead sounds like hard work. it sounds exhausting. it sounds like something i'm not sure i can do. i suppose it sounds like the very stuff this tragic rebirth has been preparing me for.

i should've known.

i should've known i would outlive you,

and that these mended bones would be tested.

i should've known i would absorb your force,

that it would increase my strength somehow.

and you should've known

you will never touch me, you cannot reach me,

i'm approaching the top of the stratosphere,

i am higher still, i am shattering barriers as i go.

and the hard, bright diamonds of better days

are cascading, waiting to meet me.

{ oh god, i am getting well. }

à demain, je vais.

tomorrow, i go.

tomorrow i go to a place that's more quickly become a part of me than any other place. i'm slow to adjust, you see, which is why i've never traveled often. being in a perpetual transitional state frays the ligaments of my soul.

but things are different now.

somehow i am different.

for a very long time i've believed change made me fragile. (maybe it did, then.) but now my bones are beginning to tell me that change may be what makes me stronger. there's an elasticity to my thoughts that hasn't been there before. lately i don't always recognize myself, and it's been a bit unsettling since knowing myself well has long been something of which i'm proud. however, this strangeness comes from the fact that i'm meeting a better version of myself --- and that's the best form of unfamiliarity i can think of. (not "better" as in "bad/better/best" --- "better" as in, more well.)

oh god,

i am getting well.

how strange, how strange, how strange life is!
how absolutely incredible the minute adaptation and stitching that happens over time,
how utterly infuriating the incomprehensible mystery of being mended:
how it eluded me when i tracked it, ran after it, snapped at its heels.
finally i fell face down in exhaustion and defeat, a crumple of twisted limbs
and a damaged, terminal soul. but wouldn't you know
i woke to that beast of healing curled beside me, great feathered head on its paws.
we had slept in tandem for three years, sharing dreams, tossing and sweating through fevers of loss.
there were patches of baldness where i'd yanked its fur, purples and yellows on my skin
where it had held me down, both of us marked by the other. with a sigh, the creature stirred.
i kissed its piercing, unfathomable eye and it pushed its velvet forehead against my chest.
i understood somehow that its tendons and skin had formed with time; it had not hid
from me as i suspected. it was a creature like me, formed from a thousand previous injuries.
so i climbed into the valley between its shoulder blades, my ankles pressed against its carotid pulse.
and with a thunderous beating of wings, we were borne up mightily on thermal columns like invisible geysers,
pushing us high,
high, higher.







--------------------------------

{ keep it close }

quelques choses favorites || she

i'm feeling quite introspective these days...the tide of my college days is washing over me. back then i'd spend hours in the library studying, lost in a world of music and the pages of books, engrossed in my notes and drawings, each new line putting distance between the things i couldn't change and the limitless possibility i felt was within me. i was often sad, but i was so strong...my experiences fueled my writing in a way i haven't experienced since.

there have been times in my life i've felt reminiscent of those days, but never moreso than now. in many ways i feel trapped, left behind, and forgotten. but somehow this compels me to prove --- mostly to myself --- that i can make it through, that all of this means something, and that i will wait as long as it takes for things to turn around, for the sun to shine on me again.

i've been spending a lot of time in silence alone. i believe this is the true core of my introversion making itself known...when the meteor crashes down, i hunker down in the crater and process my way through the rubble and the emptiness on my own. i'll reach out to a few trusted survivors, but the bulk of the work is done in solitude. although i often doubt myself, i trust myself (i don't know if that's possible to explain or understand, it just is). although i sometimes loathe myself, i know i love myself best in the end.

the two items in this photo are things i'm keeping in my survival crater right now...i tend to cling to certain objects during certain seasons. they are beautiful, sentimental, and...simple. as small as they are, they anchor me. so i'm keeping them close.

she's on instagram:

@kristenthejoy

http://web.stagram.com/n/kristenthejoy/

{ i'll be found }

when the world has fallen out

from under me...

{ brooke fraser }

{ heartbreak playlist }

i'm sad. i want to call her, but i shouldn't.

so i'm texting you.

usually something like this would cause internal turmoil for me, maybe even tears. but for once i was glad to be on the other end of the phone. for the record, i'd like to be that person more often: the person who feels privileged when others come to her with their heaviness, because they trust me. because they believe i see them. because their battered souls find safe harbor in my presence. because, whether they could articulate it or not, they hope i can help them somehow.

i don't think anyone is born knowing just what to do in any given situation. i don't think receiving someone else's pain is something we ever know how to do. but i do believe that certain souls are born with the ability to simply do or be whatever is needed in certain moments. maybe it's a certain receptivity in a person that allows her to ebb and flow with the tide of someone's grief, or elation.

i don't know if my soul reflects this receptivity or ability to move with the tide of a situation. what i do know is that as i've gotten older, as i've gotten better at listening, i often find myself doing or saying things i never would've expected of myself when a friend comes to me raw with need. sometimes it does feel like some other force is forming sentences or bringing my arms around someone in a certain way. i always feel a mixture of confusion and relief when this happens.

oh friend. 

you aren't alone.

and you need the perfect song.

he did. i sent him some. i sent him 18 perfect songs for those moments. and if i hadn't felt the same kind of lost, so full of yearning with no acceptable outlet, so restless with everything unrequited in the world, at some point(s) in my own travels, i wouldn't have had the resources i (he) needed.

to everything that happens to us

that eventually happens to someone else

to seeing heartbreak as a gift that devastates me

but gives me a chance to be part of mending another

to being the one to harbor you

when the seas are just too rough ---

i am here.

{ s.r. }

find me on 

instagram here

{ yours no more }

{ lay it down }

sometimes < quelquefois > all you can do through the blur of tears
that comes with reaching out for the ghosts of a life past, a life which is yours no more ---
chasing down the histories you've lived repeatedly for years ---
imagining an infinite shore that curves steadily into an eternal yes ---


sometimes all you can do is close your eyes
shut out the ever-murmuring voice of disappointment
let your hair rest on your shoulder, close the door and let yourself
fall into that space between already and not yet.


and everything that's slipped from your grasp will be light as a feather,
not weights hanging from your ribs, not blades in your hands.
it doesn't make sense, it doesn't have to. for this hour the sadness is yours no more.
release yourself from the darkness now. let it go. lay it down.

--- s.r.

{ the search }

after all these years

i am still looking

and i think i am finally

stumbling upon discovery

it's a treasure i seek

but there is

pain in the search

and pain with the find

people stare at me

in this backwards town

i wear all the colors

i sing too loud

they have never seen a girl

with wings before

with eyes that are stars

and an elliptically orbiting mind

may this search yield a find

may the years be kind

may there be peace

in this porcelain spine




{ words and pictures by she }

{ more of the afterward }

i have run through the fields

only to be with you

only to be with you

would you?

i've often asked the most impossible question in order to procure the answer i knew was coming: no. i can't. i don't want to. i don't want you. some people feel storms coming in their bones; i can sense abandonment from miles away. a shadow in the marrow of my days, the smallest lesion on each embrace. and before i knew it, he was gone ---

abandonments are like hurricanes --- they follow certain patterns, you prepare as much as you can, but each one cuts a wider path of destruction than the last. i've mapped each one in minute detail. i've felt them approaching but chosen to believe that certainly the same bolt wouldn't strike the same girl twice, through the upper right chamber of the heart, just missing the liver, fracturing the seventh rib, traveling down the length of the left leg before blasting a hole in the ground big enough to get lost in for weeks, months, years...

this is all old psychology, we've been over it. you don't know anything about it, and you shouldn't have to. because a desirable woman throws no shadows, she is tall and full of light, without jammed doors or grimy windows. also, she's thin and domestically inclined. she never buys silk scarves on impulse. she is best friends with her mother. she can bake a pie in her sleep and she never asks too much.

make the choice. make the
choice. make

the choice.

we both know what direction you're going, and it's the only direction i know from everywhere i've stood: away. on this side of it all, i always think i want to see that face again, but i'm beginning to believe that's because everyone seems so much more necessary when they're walking away. even now if you turned around, i'm not sure you'd look anything like the irresistibly broken person i remember.

i don't know how to escape this, but i'm leaving.
i don't know how to get better, but i'm getting out of bed.
i don't know if i'll ever be the same, but i'm not sure i'd want to anyway.

with everything ---
she

{ good ghosts }

and we'll all be

safe til saint patrick's day

{ john mayer }

i feel like this on the inside
up a tree, up a creek, alone in the park.
all dressed up with nowhere to go ---

on the outside i have everywhere to be, everyone to please. on the inside i am fighting for my life and fighting for peace. i don't want to go back down that river, flushed through a hardened artery at too fast a speed. i'm putting my hands against the walls of this vein and i'm traveling at my own pace. may the body of the world be kind. (what am i even talking about anymore?)

the people who care for me emerge like pale spectres in a slow dream. they are beautiful. i feel lucky. but most of them aren't here. so i walk solidly through the hard days with their ghosts trailing behind me, swirling around me, lifting my hair ---

i want to feel my feet on ground west,
up the hill, across the creek, through
the front door with the flappy screen.
i want those slants of sun across my face,
the pages of a friend turning three feet away,
the ever-changing sun through an open hand.
i want that moment back, the very first one,
when i heard your call and knew
i would never be the same again.

until then---
she