Thoughts from Last Night

Dear Boy,

I ache for you sometimes.

And sometimes I think that it’s not at all for you. Sometimes I think that the ache in my arms, the physical yearning in the muscles connecting my biceps to my torso, I think that’s for someone else and dear god do I want one day to find them. I want that day to be now. I am morbidly curious to know what it feels like to fall asleep beside someone else.

But sometimes, I think that the ache could be for you. Sometimes, I imagine a world where we got to try again, where you saw confidence in my eyes instead of fear and longing, where we met with our more complete views of the world and talked and dreamed and where I'd spend an entire night with you on the mountain, curled in blankets, hand in hand, whispering the stories I’ve learned, pointing to the stars whose shapes I now know and can describe. I've grown up, you see, and I’m better, and there’s a world to be shared with someone else and sometimes, I think that could be you.

Except that it couldn’t be. You once told me that I had a beautiful soul and at the time, as expected (I would have found my past self lacking in complexity if she had thought anything different), I was more upset that you only saw my soul when there was my entire self here, in front of you, waiting to be noticed in the expected ways. And I think now, you’d still be looking for that soul, and I can’t promise that you’d find it.

I dragged my soul around behind me like Linus’ blanket. It went everywhere with me; it was a comfort, a tool, something to mop up the messes in my way and around me. It was something from home, something treasured and worn, something that new people didn’t really understand, something childish. Eventually, I set it aside and let it gather dust. Souls get worn, you know? They tear and need patches and when you hold them up to the light, they can seem like they’re not worth the effort it would take to fix it. So you live with the hole, you hide the stain, you cram it in the bottom of a drawer you know you never intend to open again. It is a functional life I lead, with no time to sit around stitching an ugly thing back together.

Maybe you wouldn’t see that.

But I do.

The moonlight that shines on me is harsh and brighter than you’d think, blocking out all but the brightest stars and bouncing off too-thick folds of skin that cover and pad tired bones. And I do think I learned many things, like how to sit up straight and smile while your spine curls within you and how to paint away imperfections and what a difference an effort in the morning can make and the exact magnitude of the impact that a pair of heels makes as they dig almost imperceptibly into tiled floors. But tonight, I’d pray for this harsh moonlight to draw up some magic, for my soul to float from its hiding place into the lovely semi-darkness, for moonlight and starlight to twirl together and knit my soul into a seamless whole before my eyes, without me lifting a finger.Then my soul could travel with me again and you’d marvel at the dark shimmer sparkle and we’d spend years filling each other’s imperfections with pools of love.

There are things in the way, though, and I’m much too tired to move them on my own. But for now, it doesn’t really matter. I know there will be someone, somewhere, sometime, It’ll come, it’ll come, it’ll come, it’ll come, it’ll come. And I’ll look back on this night, with the moonlight, without you, watching the clouds run among the stars and smile sadly, momentarily mourning the loss of my independence. Then I’ll roll over and remember it was a trade and not a sacrifice and kiss a cheek well worth kissing. We’ll gleam and shine and twinkle in another night’s life.

I’d like to pretend this is goodbye.

I know it’s not.

But it’s goodnight, at least.

Goodnight.

Days

Today is the day.

Today is the day I stop believing lies about myself. I will stop listening to the voice inside my head that promises that we’re just being realistic here when we judge the sum total of our face and our hair and our rolls as determinedly unattractive. That voice promises that I am hideous and useless and truly unloved and it has gone a bridge too far. Though I can do better and be much healthier, that voice doesn’t speak true. Today, I start believing in myself again.

Today is the day I stop fighting my body. My posture and gait are as important as the food I eat, the beverages I drink, the stretches I do, and the exercises I plan. I have to begin listening to the creaks and tears of my brain and body, because I only get the one and I need it to last. Today, I start taking care of myself.

Today is the day I stop doing anything less than my level best at my job. It’s the day that I stop taking internet breaks to click that link or check this form of social media, distractedly, obsessively, and over and over again. It’s the day that I stop staring at my computer listlessly in the face of challenge and start creating, making, problem solving, and learning. Today, I start trying again.

Today is the day I stop making excuses for myself. Those little lies and flimsy reasons are just brambles that hold me back, snares that slow me down and keep me from moving forward. Excuses grow into arguments against action and I am finished with inaction. Today, I take responsibility for myself.

Today is the day I stop pretending to want things I don’t. I don’t want to settle down right now. I don’t want to back myself into a career just because I think I should. I don’t want to settle for a nice man, a picket fence, and consolation children. I don’t want to stay comfortable, relegated to the well-understood back corner when there is a world of wonderfully thorny problems out there, waiting to be solved. Today, I start looking for the something more I’ve been yearning for.

Today is the day I stop apologizing for myself. The questions I ask, the words I say, the space I occupy, these things are not offenses or outrages to the people around me, nor should they be.  I’m not going to hide the fact that I’m a capable woman so that others can feel comfortable. I will delve into the subjects and ideas that fascinate me without concern for intimidation. I will work with confident dedication. I refuse to let my fear of disapproval dictate my choices. Today, I start acting independent of the inhibitions of others.

Today is the day I stop waiting.

Today is the day I stop quitting.

Today is the day I stop lowering my expectations.

And today is the day I begin living again.

Because I have been given much and it is ridiculous that I have wasted my privilege and my power to live in comfort rather than to help others into better lives. I have the ability and the opportunity to make a good and lasting difference in the world. I don’t want to waste the lifetime of chances that I have. Today is the day that I start living into the rhetoric of my soul.

And tomorrow is that day too. 

Tow Truck

I was going to tell you about the phenomenal mess my life is but then I thought better of it.

I want to tell you about my best friend.

So, you know that time in second or third or fourth grade when everyone had friends but every girl needed a best friend? Maybe you don’t because maybe your childhood wasn’t filled with Buzzfeed-flavored nostalgia, complete with trapper keepers and Lisa Frank stickers and Nickelodeon, but for some of us, we understood that having a best friend was a necessity. It was a line on an elementary school resume, a way of proving to future friends that you had it together because you had a best friend. Allow me into your social circle because I have the ultimate reference. That’s how best friends worked when we were kids- you had sleepovers, you giggled, you watched movies together and passed notes and were, officially, best friends.

My best friend from back home moved into town in the third grade from Minnesota. I’m not a mega-social person and I wasn’t a socially-savvy kid, so bringing up memories that specifically involve people is like dredging the lake for sunken buoys, but it’s OK because as soon as I’m home, she remembers something and tells the story like there should have been movie cameras following us around. We sound epic or at the very least more interesting than I’m sure we actually were. There was always orange juice for me in the fridge at her house and I feel like I knew the inside of her pantry just as well as she did. There was a fort to explore (there's a new road there now) and when we grew up, music to play and hours of things to talk about. And whenever I’m back visiting her, it’s like no time has passed. I can sit and listen and laugh more than I have in years, I feel like, and it’s the most perfect thing.

I live a life of cliches and tired old acts, so of course the two of us went to different colleges in different states and developed our own lives, with our own new best friends. Of course we would- we’re independent women who spend plenty of time dreaming, and honestly, even high school took a toll on us, between separated by band and theater and going to different churches with different youth groups. When you’ve done the Millennial Shuffle*, you know that everything in life is malleable, including friendships. It’s not all Dawson’s Creek or Boy Meets World. Mr. Feeny isn’t going to move to college with you and your friends aren’t going to drop out and/or transfer to be near you. That’s a pipe dream.

So when I come back home from my job in a different part of the state and we talk about bands we like or shows we watch or things we’ve done and find that we’re still so much in sync, it makes me miss what we could have been. I have other friends, great friends, friends that I could start whole new blogs about, but sometimes I think that I could have lived in a house in Charleston, roadtripped with the windows down listening to Zeppelin and Cake, waited tables at the country club, and laid out every night for a semester watching the stars down in Chile. I mean, I’m happy with who I am and I can’t discredit the wonderful and lovely things that I’ve done, but I know that there’s a corner of my soul that could have been happy doing something else.

And then there’s nights like tonight where we went to a bar and had a couple of beers, listening to my best friend and her mom tell stories, while a second best friend listened and laughed and swapped anecdotes about teaching languages. We played songs on the jukebox and smiled at the people who walked in and mentioned things that her fiance would notice in a loud voice so he’d come over from behind the bar and spend a few minutes with us. Then, on my way out of her apartment complex, in true classy fashion, I misjudged the turn on the hill and ended up needing a tow truck. But my best friend, she’s been trained to never let them see you sweat, and so we assessed the damage, found a guy to come out and help us, and spent the intermediate half hour watching a British sitcom and laughing at the narratives behind the decorations in her temporary home. When the tow would only take cash and I had none, she never even batted an eye. My car got unstuck, I now have a list of new pop culture to bring into my life, and despite having a substantial problem, I feel so much better than I did before. All in all, it wasn’t a bad night.

So I’m going to hold on to that as I go on about my days. There’s a glorious freedom in knowing that life could have gone completely different and it wouldn’t have turned out that bad at all.




*The Millennial Shuffle is a complex dance staged for the children of families privileged enough to be thinking of higher education for their children, a dance full of angst and an over-abundance of encouragement and unfulfilled promises. The steps are as follows:
Step 1: Get good grades. 
Step 2: Do a sport. 
Step 3: Pick four extra curriculars. 
Step 5: Become a leader in at least one of the organizations you’re involved in. 
Step 5.5: Exhaust any and all energy overachieving at the high school level. 
Step 6: Apply to college. 
Step 7: Graduate by some miracle. 
Step 8: Find a job. Or, more reasonably, don’t. 
Repeat Steps 6-8 until the music runs out.