“Who is this person to you?” my best friend’s response as I was confessing my anxiety about an acquaintance acting cold to me. Really, does this person hold any significance in my life? Why am I willing to surrender that power?
I cannot hold it against people because they do not fit into my life. Being the real deal does not always attract the real deal. Sometimes, it guides fool’s gold to our light, and when the fool’s gold is challenged to be real, it runs away because it is is not prepared to recognize what element it is. It doesn’t know, and I can’t help them with that. Self discovery is each persons sacred labor.
“Sometimes, we don’t burn the bridges. We keep them there in case they want to cross again, and maybe that’s not a bad thing.”– something a sensitive and lovely pal said to me about the people who drop us.
Your people, the real ones, they want to spend time with you even if that’s wallowing or crying or yelling. They don’t want just the good parts. They want all the parts because the realest love is for the person, not the idea of a person. And whole people are seen in the unprettiest of moments. For example, like when you begin sobbing after a break up in a mediocre Mexican chain restaurant…. that didn’t happen to me… yes, it did.
Do NOT– I repeat– DO NOT wear leggings designed for yoga to an aggressive spin class. They will rip and your lower ass cheek will be exposed, and you will not realize until after class. Bless my long coat for covering that rip up while I got groceries after.
You have to rest as hard as you work and train. Rest is an essential part of progress, not a diversion from it.
I believed the white picket fencing of my life was a matter of time. I believed that it would organically fall into a normative pattern previous generations modeled for me. Then, I was single for 25 years of my life, and then fell in love with a woman and then that ended. There have been so many reconfigurations where I’ve asked myself, “what is my life supposed to be?” and the only worthwhile answer is, “Whatever you make it””. Because I want to find love and have babies, but that might not happen. And I’ve sailed the grief ridden waves of losing heteronormativity and then wondering if I will die alone. I’ve bemoaned those things online. But I also don’t think other people make your life. I do not think it is a qualifications system built upon how we are titled in relation to others. It can be a big, wild adventure. I’ve crammed the enormity of myself into so many spaces I didn’t fit, tried to be so many women I never was. I enter 2020 as the stray force I am: a titan, an amazonian element coursing with emotion and passion. And I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up or who wants me, but I want myself. I want myself even on the hard days and alone. I want myself in the moments when I feel like I’m in middle school again, a stray puzzle piece lining the gym wall as they pick dodge ball teams. Even in those moments, I pick myself.
Maybe, if you let go of all the things you’ve clung to for so long, you’d fly somewhere else. Maybe that’s not a bad thing.
You don’t scare off your people by showing your full self. That’s how you find your people.
I told my therapist about myself and said it was my anxiety. She responded, “or maybe it’s your trauma”. Suddenly, so many of my reactions made sense. Because maybe it wasn’t just my nerves. Rather, my reactions are the fossils of everything I survived.
The furthest thing from my ego is connection.
“You manifest more by letting go than hanging on.” — Maryam Hasaa
I didn’t want to be known by someone in those mundane and secret ways. I’m not talking about the things I write about. I’m talking about the ordinary aspects of me that are verbs and not narratives. These traits humanize me. They rob me of admiration, but illuminate love as a possibility. I mean the way I grocery shop or truly and peacefully sleep next to someone or those idiosyncrasies only observed up close and over time. I didn’t believe someone would stay long enough to observe those things. I could not be more than a dalliance or a pit stop. I had to be exciting the way summer camp is. I could never be the stable hometown. That’s not how I feel anymore. In twelve months, the locks clicked open and the yellow tape fell away, and I feel the message on my chest, even if there is no one there to read it yet, “welcome home.”
“Your twenties are overrated.” — a friend’s dad
There are connections I chase midnight alleyways for and drive to the other side of town only to drive back again. There are loves like an eraser to inconvenience, and they wipe away annoyance so quickly. And then there are loves who falter. They break over petty things, and I bang my head against the wall as to why. Why can’t I keep everyone forever? Not all loves are built to last, and I think there’s grace in remembering the broken ones with the same appreciation as those still in tact. They aren’t the same thing, but like a diamond and cubic zirconia, they both catch the light.
“If you treat your body with respect, you’re often rewarded with a body that will support you”.
It isn’t my job to rescue everyone all the time. My rescuing may cripple others when they could develop coping skills. It’s a selfish thing to swoop in every time there’s discomfort because I don’t want to see someone else in pain. Pain is a teacher, too. And all the time I spent saving people fully capable of designing their own redemption, I took time away from my growth. And maybe rescuing is a distraction, a way to feel good about myself without reckoning with the work of bettering myself.
Human Diary- n- a person other people use to confide all their secrets in. (definition and term brought to you by the same friend as #3.
In order to connect with people, we have to give them the opportunity to disappoint us.