Recently, I was having a conversation with a woman who co-pastors an eclectic type of "home church" here in the city. This conversation was about many things, but one of the more interesting things that came up was my thoughts and frustrations regarding the incestuous feeling of the GLBTQI dating scene here in Fredericton, and the drama cycle this seems to perpetuate. "Just once I'd like to meet a woman where I don't know her ex, her ex's ex, and all their friends in between." It's recently reached a point where if I see an attractive dyke around that doesn't seem familiar, I can safely and usually accurately assume that they're not native to Fredericton's scene.
My pastor friend's theory, to give you the gist, is that incest (if you take it out of the blood-relative context) breeds a sort of self-focussed, destructive energy. "A community (or family) that is focussed only on and within itself is going to suffer from unhealthy emotional issues and perpetuate a host of common tics and problems." We of course discussed how this crosses more than just sexuality boundaries, and is the reason too why so many Christian churches fall in on themselves - the failure to look outward and bring that energy to the larger world.
As far as this theory relates to the subculture though, I both agree and disagree. One thing to consider is that most GLBTQI communities are incestuous not by choice but by necessity. "Sub"-culture inherently infers smaller than the community it exists within. With Fredericton being a small city to start with, one can only assume that even the straights in the area have had more than one experience with playing musical exes. The smaller the dating pool, the more likely to find this problem. Moving outside of your local dating area is an option, but not always practical - or even doable for those who can't manage long distance. Let's be honest, folks, some of us aren't even good at relationships here within city limits, let alone cross-province.
Musical exes appears to me to be one of the things most complained about in the community. But Debi made a comment once upon a time over coffee that's relevant here, too, and that is, for the most part even though the community is incestuous, there is a feeling that we all have each others' backs if it were to come down to it. Whether this is something that's inherent in the more literal sense of incest I don't know, possibly. Also, keep in mind, this relevant comment on the theory has different layers and levels in my opinion, too. We here in Fredericton seem to talk a lot of game when it comes to breaking up with someone and the anger we allow into that experience. But IF that ex were on fire on the street, would we piss on them to put them out? I like to believe for the most part yes. Not only that, there are varied experiences and spaces that we are operating within daily in this regard. We have Pride meetings, and go to the club and manage passable friendly dynamics with people that may be avoiding us in "real life." In playground terms, we "make nice" in the community, with a very human sense of community loyalty lurking beneath the surface of our wounded, musical relationship facades.
I don't think I believe that the GLBTQI community will ever necessarily fall in on itself because of this necessary incest, but I do think we have mini-quakes of falling in ourselves individually. We rally, we move around each other, and slowly build each other back up in new ways with expansions and growth of the heart. I think this is necessary, and beautiful. I've always wondered if maybe the smallness of the community and the limited number of people is God/dess/whoever's way of playing the ultimate joke on us. I like to think that maybe ALL our partners/soulmates/etc. do actually live in this community frame. We just have to wait for the music to stop in front of the right chair, however long that takes. And it very well could be that partner IS someone that you've been with before, they just needed to keep playing until they caved in and were rebuilt and came around one more time.
My point (assuming I set out to have one of sorts) is that, while we spend copious amounts of time bitching about the shallow pool in the city, if you stir up the waters, you will see something safe and beautiful and sometimes healing in there. We show all the colors of our rainbow in this splintered dynamic. For me, this is where my Pride lies. In knowing that while we stand damaged, and human and backbiting, we are home even if we can't see that home yet. Necessary incest - maybe. Family? Definitely. Beautiful? Without a doubt.
~ Mar
Monday, January 3, 2011
Friday, December 17, 2010
Miele to the Sparrow
Dear Sparrow,
What would I say if I could say anything at all? I've written this open letter in my head, over a hundred thousand times in a year. The words fall flat. It all comes down to a simple phrase, that I don't have the opportunity to say.
I miss you.
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. So much sometimes I don't even have space inside of myself to put it.
What would I tell you? I'd tell you that there has been no easy silence since you left. Other people just try to fill up the minutes. I keep looking for the Dar Williams to my Joan Baez, but the Dangling Conversation is dead. I would tell you that the easy silence was the most soothing part of our entire friendship. We just got it - no definitions, no arguments. I would tell you I trusted you, unquestioningly, and that's probably what did me in, in the end.
I would tell you that I can't drink Jasmine tea anymore. That I keep meaning to buy a copy of The Final Confession of Mabel Stark, but I keep putting it off because who would want to talk about that novel besides you?
I miss you.
The poetry. With you gone, Sparrow, there's nobody left to lament the death of the English language anymore. Nobody I can use random SiP quotes on and know it won't fall into dead space. Nobody to sing Neko Case with while sipping loose-leaf tea and talking about how Kim only bought you one good thing in your entire relationship. There's nobody who pauses, mid-conversation to write down a phrase for later use in a Happy Bunny notebook. No one who writes poetry so stark and startling and deep that it brings tears to my eyes.
I miss you. Your laughter, your lumberjack walk. Your "I'm always tired, but you're always welcome," eyes. Your, "don't knock, just come in," and bringing me leftover cream of mushroom soup in that dyke hat you so often let me borrow. I miss the chivalrous butch you only let out to play every once in a while. The comfort. The familiarity. The things we had in common. I miss that we never let each other get away with much when it came to our writing. I miss that you trusted me to take a critical eye to your genius and still threw me a Dave Matthew's Band t-shirt when the sun went down.
I miss the fact that you know at least something about everything. There was never a moment I wasn't learning. Or challenged, or stretching myself. You reflected back at me the most beautiful version of myself I have ever seen. I tried things and succeeded at things that I never thought I could even see in my worldview. As silly as walking from downtown across the walking bridge. As serious as going back to school.
I miss your special Olympian jokes. Your irreverence. Your intense quiet and the fact it never frightened me. I miss sharing Mexican while mopping the Trinitea's floor, the documentaries, and the thousands of hours of GLBTQ talk. I miss your singing. Your Moncton stories. Your "you'd love what I'm reading now."
I would tell you of how much weight I lost. How I still wish you had taught me to run. I would tell you I finally succeeded in staying broken up with Catherine. I would ask you to teach me about Pewter as only you can, seasoned with 2 years of around the world and sounding like Neruda. I would ask you to take me back to the Curry House and teach me more about world cuisine. I would tell you, even at the risk of getting beaten by your junkyard dog partner, that I miss how you sleep. The ease with which you fit into your own body. The fact that you got me without ever having to try.
I would tell you, Sparrow, that I miss you. That I never thought I could miss someone every day of my life. I wonder if you miss me too. You were always much more cryptic about how you handled that side of yourself. A dark beer, a pair of cowboy boots and an "I can sleep with my friends and never talk about it again," attitude. Heh. I would ask you - why did you handle it the way you did? We both know that you knew better.
I would tell you, throwing every ounce of caution I have inside myself to the wind, that I read "Miele". And that is exactly why I knew better. I got it - maybe that's why it shocked me so much to realize you didn't. I would ask you if it all started with you sticking your foot in your mouth, as you were often wont to do, Sparrow. lol
I would tell you I miss you. That I love you (although not in the way you seem to fear). And I would accept that there is never enough time.
~ Mar
What would I say if I could say anything at all? I've written this open letter in my head, over a hundred thousand times in a year. The words fall flat. It all comes down to a simple phrase, that I don't have the opportunity to say.
I miss you.
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. So much sometimes I don't even have space inside of myself to put it.
What would I tell you? I'd tell you that there has been no easy silence since you left. Other people just try to fill up the minutes. I keep looking for the Dar Williams to my Joan Baez, but the Dangling Conversation is dead. I would tell you that the easy silence was the most soothing part of our entire friendship. We just got it - no definitions, no arguments. I would tell you I trusted you, unquestioningly, and that's probably what did me in, in the end.
I would tell you that I can't drink Jasmine tea anymore. That I keep meaning to buy a copy of The Final Confession of Mabel Stark, but I keep putting it off because who would want to talk about that novel besides you?
I miss you.
The poetry. With you gone, Sparrow, there's nobody left to lament the death of the English language anymore. Nobody I can use random SiP quotes on and know it won't fall into dead space. Nobody to sing Neko Case with while sipping loose-leaf tea and talking about how Kim only bought you one good thing in your entire relationship. There's nobody who pauses, mid-conversation to write down a phrase for later use in a Happy Bunny notebook. No one who writes poetry so stark and startling and deep that it brings tears to my eyes.
I miss you. Your laughter, your lumberjack walk. Your "I'm always tired, but you're always welcome," eyes. Your, "don't knock, just come in," and bringing me leftover cream of mushroom soup in that dyke hat you so often let me borrow. I miss the chivalrous butch you only let out to play every once in a while. The comfort. The familiarity. The things we had in common. I miss that we never let each other get away with much when it came to our writing. I miss that you trusted me to take a critical eye to your genius and still threw me a Dave Matthew's Band t-shirt when the sun went down.
I miss the fact that you know at least something about everything. There was never a moment I wasn't learning. Or challenged, or stretching myself. You reflected back at me the most beautiful version of myself I have ever seen. I tried things and succeeded at things that I never thought I could even see in my worldview. As silly as walking from downtown across the walking bridge. As serious as going back to school.
I miss your special Olympian jokes. Your irreverence. Your intense quiet and the fact it never frightened me. I miss sharing Mexican while mopping the Trinitea's floor, the documentaries, and the thousands of hours of GLBTQ talk. I miss your singing. Your Moncton stories. Your "you'd love what I'm reading now."
I would tell you of how much weight I lost. How I still wish you had taught me to run. I would tell you I finally succeeded in staying broken up with Catherine. I would ask you to teach me about Pewter as only you can, seasoned with 2 years of around the world and sounding like Neruda. I would ask you to take me back to the Curry House and teach me more about world cuisine. I would tell you, even at the risk of getting beaten by your junkyard dog partner, that I miss how you sleep. The ease with which you fit into your own body. The fact that you got me without ever having to try.
I would tell you, Sparrow, that I miss you. That I never thought I could miss someone every day of my life. I wonder if you miss me too. You were always much more cryptic about how you handled that side of yourself. A dark beer, a pair of cowboy boots and an "I can sleep with my friends and never talk about it again," attitude. Heh. I would ask you - why did you handle it the way you did? We both know that you knew better.
I would tell you, throwing every ounce of caution I have inside myself to the wind, that I read "Miele". And that is exactly why I knew better. I got it - maybe that's why it shocked me so much to realize you didn't. I would ask you if it all started with you sticking your foot in your mouth, as you were often wont to do, Sparrow. lol
I would tell you I miss you. That I love you (although not in the way you seem to fear). And I would accept that there is never enough time.
~ Mar
Monday, December 6, 2010
On Dating in the Fishbowl
If you know me halfway well, I've told you my Fredericton Lesbian Dating = Fishbowl metaphor one, if not several times. I have been in the city off and on for nine years. And trying to date in this city leaves me nothing but questions.
Such as where are all the lesbians between the ages of 24-35? Where are the old-fashioned and trustworthy butches? Where are the sane women - and do sane women even exist anymore? Is there anyone out there who is honest and up front? Who can hold a conversation, is literate and not addicted? And the largest question - is it that my standards are too high; are these things ACTUALLY too much to ask?
I just wish that people were direct. Because I am a direct, brutally honest person. And yeah, brutal honesty is a bitch. It hurts, it can offend people, but it's the only thing that slices through social bullshit and lays things out on the table. I would much rather meet someone and have them say "You know, I'm not as attracted as I thought I would be," or "I'm really fucked up right now and have no energy to devote to new people," then the stupid social motions we go through. I'm starting to develop a real hate for social constructions in general. Just say what's on your mind, people. I neither want nor have the time for any fluff.
Of course, it's funny then when people like my co-workers tell me that they think it's because I come off as such a strong, confident woman. I often wonder if strong and confident means loud and full of opinions. Is it really so awful to know what you want and don't want? Or is it just that it's so rare that people get scared by it? There are no women I admire more than the ones I meet who have a clear idea of what it is they want and what they won't deal with. Good for you, for at least putting the brainpower into the subject and realizing that it's better to know ahead of time what you want than to get weeks or years into something only to realize that it makes you miserable.
So, are you out there? Someone who is smart, funny, chivalrous, a little (or a lot) butch, concerned about the world but not drowning in it, a little bit of a minimalist? Can you hold a conversation, read a book, make loose leaf tea? Are you actually looking for a relationship and not a play partner/toy for your bf/drunk buddy/friend with benefits? Do you still believe in love? Do you know that money means nothing at the end of the day? Are you secure with who you are and how you live? Do you have a sex drive?
... *crickets*
Christ on a jumped-up crutch. It sounds so weird to even say I've been here on and off nine years. Where is my life going? Everyone says to move, but from what I hear, it's the same old lesbian fishbowl drama, just in a different bar and a different city in any of the other places. I feel so old and so tired. *sigh* Where is Debi when you need her? She makes me feel rather balanced somehow, and less adrift.
~ Mar
Such as where are all the lesbians between the ages of 24-35? Where are the old-fashioned and trustworthy butches? Where are the sane women - and do sane women even exist anymore? Is there anyone out there who is honest and up front? Who can hold a conversation, is literate and not addicted? And the largest question - is it that my standards are too high; are these things ACTUALLY too much to ask?
I just wish that people were direct. Because I am a direct, brutally honest person. And yeah, brutal honesty is a bitch. It hurts, it can offend people, but it's the only thing that slices through social bullshit and lays things out on the table. I would much rather meet someone and have them say "You know, I'm not as attracted as I thought I would be," or "I'm really fucked up right now and have no energy to devote to new people," then the stupid social motions we go through. I'm starting to develop a real hate for social constructions in general. Just say what's on your mind, people. I neither want nor have the time for any fluff.
Of course, it's funny then when people like my co-workers tell me that they think it's because I come off as such a strong, confident woman. I often wonder if strong and confident means loud and full of opinions. Is it really so awful to know what you want and don't want? Or is it just that it's so rare that people get scared by it? There are no women I admire more than the ones I meet who have a clear idea of what it is they want and what they won't deal with. Good for you, for at least putting the brainpower into the subject and realizing that it's better to know ahead of time what you want than to get weeks or years into something only to realize that it makes you miserable.
So, are you out there? Someone who is smart, funny, chivalrous, a little (or a lot) butch, concerned about the world but not drowning in it, a little bit of a minimalist? Can you hold a conversation, read a book, make loose leaf tea? Are you actually looking for a relationship and not a play partner/toy for your bf/drunk buddy/friend with benefits? Do you still believe in love? Do you know that money means nothing at the end of the day? Are you secure with who you are and how you live? Do you have a sex drive?
... *crickets*
Christ on a jumped-up crutch. It sounds so weird to even say I've been here on and off nine years. Where is my life going? Everyone says to move, but from what I hear, it's the same old lesbian fishbowl drama, just in a different bar and a different city in any of the other places. I feel so old and so tired. *sigh* Where is Debi when you need her? She makes me feel rather balanced somehow, and less adrift.
~ Mar
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Let's Get One Thing Straight - I'm Not.
Let's get another thing straight - I call myself a Christian. Does that make you cringe? Does it confuse or worry you? Do you find yourself raising an eyebrow and wondering how the two things coexist? Then maybe you should ask me about it rather than jumping to conclusions.
Sometimes I feel like I could write an entire documentary on the double quandry of trying to be lesbian in the Christian community and Christian in the GLBTQ community. Having to duck grenades from both sides gets to be a little tiring. I also get entirely confused as to how someone could assume that anyone who is liberal enough to be lesbian is going to somehow browbeat them in another capacity just because of their faith choice.
Now, before we get too far into this rant, I want to point out that yes, I understand the Christian church and faith hasn't endeared itself to the GLBTQ community. I know the pain and hurt and hate and suffering that has come out of thousands of years. I'm not excusing it, or pretending it doesn't exist. All of that stuff pisses me off too, and offends my lesbian sensibilities. Not to mention my female sensibilities, and my liberal politics sensibilities, because homosexuality is not even close to the only topic that the Christian church has fucked up on in it's history. But here's the thing - I try not to judge. It's a struggle that I don't always win, but I try really hard not to judge. I don't hold all of Islamic faith responsible for what happened on 9/11. Nor would I touch down in Germany and spit on the first German I came across just because a hundred years ago their relatives were involved in something that Hitler started. So yeah, Christians are crazy. Conservative. Fucked up. Weird. And can hurt people without intending to or even understanding sometimes that they are. But so are/can atheists. Buddhists, Muslims, Pagans, etcetera and so on.
I've heard lots of GLBTQ stories about sexuality that involved a phase where the person "didn't want to be gay." You know, the whole "I prayed and wished and hoped to be anything but gay!" stories. And you know, I never had that phase. In fact, I rejoiced in realizing I was a lesbian. I love it. I revel in it. Women are NUTS. Dating them is NUTS (no irony or pun intended, actually). But I wouldn't give it up for anything. I have no want of a fairy godmother showing up and granting me any wish to be straight. I have never in all the years I knew I was interested in women wished it away. I love being a lesbian. That having been said, I had a very strong negative reaction to the idea of being Christian. I didn't want to be Christian. "Oh no, anything but that! Give me Confuscianism, Lord, but don't ask me to be Christian!" I bucked against it like a drowning man against the current.
But it happened anyway. Isn't that queer? lol When people ask me why I'm a Christian, there are lots of answers. Some are short, some are very long and complex. They include statements like "God threw a book at my head, and it wasn't the Bible," and "When I pray, God answers." It's just as hard to ignore the thought you might be a lesbian after you fall in love with a woman for the first time, as it is to ignore the possible existence of a power that talks to you even when you ask it to shut up.
All of that being said, I don't hold the same beliefs as most Christians. That's the part that most people don't stick around to hear. I have no interest in bringing you to Jesus. I don't believe that everyone needs to come to Jesus for salvation, or that Christianity is the "one true religion." There is no such thing as "one true religion." I don't think I believe in absolute truth either. I'm pro-choice, not against euthanasia, and read tarot cards too. Welcome to my form of Christianity. I can't speak to Christianity as a religion. I'm not a religious person. I can only speak specifically to what God has done for me, personally. And he had done enough that I was okay with making my faith choice.
So I hope that someday (although probably not soon), I won't get that strange look when I tell new romantic prospects that I am Christian. Or that I can stop having awkward conversations about how I am Christian and Lesbian all at once. Or I can stop feeling attacked for being a Christian in my GLBTQ community even though I am entirely welcomed as Lesbian. Or feeling entirely unwelcomed in certain Christian communities for being both, and then welcomed entirely in other Christian communities as both. Where's the balance, people? Isn't it a little retroactive to want their acceptance when I have a hard time finding acceptance in my own community for being a a part of any of those communities we seek acceptance from? I think Jesus loves the Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Pagan, Hetero, Homo and Asexual the same. We should strive to do the same. Because it's the right thing to do. Not in the name of Jesus or Allah or anyone in particular. Just because we're all human, and I believe at the end of the day we're all seeking the same basic thing when it comes to love and acceptance. Be humane.
~ Mar
Sometimes I feel like I could write an entire documentary on the double quandry of trying to be lesbian in the Christian community and Christian in the GLBTQ community. Having to duck grenades from both sides gets to be a little tiring. I also get entirely confused as to how someone could assume that anyone who is liberal enough to be lesbian is going to somehow browbeat them in another capacity just because of their faith choice.
Now, before we get too far into this rant, I want to point out that yes, I understand the Christian church and faith hasn't endeared itself to the GLBTQ community. I know the pain and hurt and hate and suffering that has come out of thousands of years. I'm not excusing it, or pretending it doesn't exist. All of that stuff pisses me off too, and offends my lesbian sensibilities. Not to mention my female sensibilities, and my liberal politics sensibilities, because homosexuality is not even close to the only topic that the Christian church has fucked up on in it's history. But here's the thing - I try not to judge. It's a struggle that I don't always win, but I try really hard not to judge. I don't hold all of Islamic faith responsible for what happened on 9/11. Nor would I touch down in Germany and spit on the first German I came across just because a hundred years ago their relatives were involved in something that Hitler started. So yeah, Christians are crazy. Conservative. Fucked up. Weird. And can hurt people without intending to or even understanding sometimes that they are. But so are/can atheists. Buddhists, Muslims, Pagans, etcetera and so on.
I've heard lots of GLBTQ stories about sexuality that involved a phase where the person "didn't want to be gay." You know, the whole "I prayed and wished and hoped to be anything but gay!" stories. And you know, I never had that phase. In fact, I rejoiced in realizing I was a lesbian. I love it. I revel in it. Women are NUTS. Dating them is NUTS (no irony or pun intended, actually). But I wouldn't give it up for anything. I have no want of a fairy godmother showing up and granting me any wish to be straight. I have never in all the years I knew I was interested in women wished it away. I love being a lesbian. That having been said, I had a very strong negative reaction to the idea of being Christian. I didn't want to be Christian. "Oh no, anything but that! Give me Confuscianism, Lord, but don't ask me to be Christian!" I bucked against it like a drowning man against the current.
But it happened anyway. Isn't that queer? lol When people ask me why I'm a Christian, there are lots of answers. Some are short, some are very long and complex. They include statements like "God threw a book at my head, and it wasn't the Bible," and "When I pray, God answers." It's just as hard to ignore the thought you might be a lesbian after you fall in love with a woman for the first time, as it is to ignore the possible existence of a power that talks to you even when you ask it to shut up.
All of that being said, I don't hold the same beliefs as most Christians. That's the part that most people don't stick around to hear. I have no interest in bringing you to Jesus. I don't believe that everyone needs to come to Jesus for salvation, or that Christianity is the "one true religion." There is no such thing as "one true religion." I don't think I believe in absolute truth either. I'm pro-choice, not against euthanasia, and read tarot cards too. Welcome to my form of Christianity. I can't speak to Christianity as a religion. I'm not a religious person. I can only speak specifically to what God has done for me, personally. And he had done enough that I was okay with making my faith choice.
So I hope that someday (although probably not soon), I won't get that strange look when I tell new romantic prospects that I am Christian. Or that I can stop having awkward conversations about how I am Christian and Lesbian all at once. Or I can stop feeling attacked for being a Christian in my GLBTQ community even though I am entirely welcomed as Lesbian. Or feeling entirely unwelcomed in certain Christian communities for being both, and then welcomed entirely in other Christian communities as both. Where's the balance, people? Isn't it a little retroactive to want their acceptance when I have a hard time finding acceptance in my own community for being a a part of any of those communities we seek acceptance from? I think Jesus loves the Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Pagan, Hetero, Homo and Asexual the same. We should strive to do the same. Because it's the right thing to do. Not in the name of Jesus or Allah or anyone in particular. Just because we're all human, and I believe at the end of the day we're all seeking the same basic thing when it comes to love and acceptance. Be humane.
~ Mar
Thursday, December 2, 2010
So ... I Got a Blog
After some prodding from a couple of my friends, I have been peer pressured into getting this blog. My thought, whenever it's been suggested has been, "Why? What could I possibly have to say that's relevant? Or interesting??" But then I started thinking well, I'm sure the world is full of people who are blogging about completely irrelevant, uninteresting things, so I figured I could easily join their ranks and not feel quite so awkward about it. Reminds me of my LiveJournal days - which, btw, I'm sure is still out there, floating around somewhere in cyberspace no man's land. That having been said, I'm about to dive right into something that's probably not going to make a lot of sense, unless you know me. Heh.
You ever meet somebody who makes you feel narrow? Not bigoted or judgemental, or even conservative. Just narrow. Like there's an entire other world or corners of other worlds that you've been somehow walking around without even really knowing that you'd trained yourself to walk that way? I've met a couple people like that in relatively recent history. And life inside their worldview is both breathtaking and asthma-attack inducing all at once. You are amazed and intrigued by everything you haven't seen that is suddenly occuring to you, yet there's an upcoming undertow that you have to kick against. Or at least, for me there seemed to be. I wondered - how could I have lived so inside the box and never seen things that way? Should I feel bad for living inside that box if I didn't even know there WAS a box or a world outside that box that I was missing?
These people are both my heroes, and the people that shine brightest and most intense in my life experiences. I take the memories and roll them over in my hands and in my mind daily, hourly, moment by moment and try to see things anew. I ask myself questions that I can only hope are relevant. About them, my world, myself, my own boundaries and definitions and hopes. I tell myself in the quiet of their being gone that I should be proud and satisfied that they stumbled into my box and shook my corners free. But sometimes that thought is not enough to fill the void their brief season in my life has left behind. I shape their memories into pearls and I wear them, like a brooch, in my most quiet hours. My mouth still smiles, days and even a year later.
My hope is that people like that keep coming into my life. No matter how much pain or heartache or tears I go through when their season ends and I am left to wonder what went wrong, my life and my world are always a little brighter, with new corners built on when they leave. I learn things, and seek out things after they leave that I never would have considered without them. Every pearl of memory added to my chain is something I hope to take away with me when this long journey is over. I admire and respect these people more than I am able to succinctly say. So for you, who are out there and I don't talk to anymore, know that I think of you. That I admire you, and miss you every day. Thank you, for all I learned from you. And for you, handsome, who are there but "not in the same capacity," (even when conversation is sometimes like pulling teeth from a chicken) thank you too. You blew my corners off, darlin'. There is nothing I could give you in return for all the windows you opened in my world. I'm learning to live with the chill.
~ Mar
You ever meet somebody who makes you feel narrow? Not bigoted or judgemental, or even conservative. Just narrow. Like there's an entire other world or corners of other worlds that you've been somehow walking around without even really knowing that you'd trained yourself to walk that way? I've met a couple people like that in relatively recent history. And life inside their worldview is both breathtaking and asthma-attack inducing all at once. You are amazed and intrigued by everything you haven't seen that is suddenly occuring to you, yet there's an upcoming undertow that you have to kick against. Or at least, for me there seemed to be. I wondered - how could I have lived so inside the box and never seen things that way? Should I feel bad for living inside that box if I didn't even know there WAS a box or a world outside that box that I was missing?
These people are both my heroes, and the people that shine brightest and most intense in my life experiences. I take the memories and roll them over in my hands and in my mind daily, hourly, moment by moment and try to see things anew. I ask myself questions that I can only hope are relevant. About them, my world, myself, my own boundaries and definitions and hopes. I tell myself in the quiet of their being gone that I should be proud and satisfied that they stumbled into my box and shook my corners free. But sometimes that thought is not enough to fill the void their brief season in my life has left behind. I shape their memories into pearls and I wear them, like a brooch, in my most quiet hours. My mouth still smiles, days and even a year later.
My hope is that people like that keep coming into my life. No matter how much pain or heartache or tears I go through when their season ends and I am left to wonder what went wrong, my life and my world are always a little brighter, with new corners built on when they leave. I learn things, and seek out things after they leave that I never would have considered without them. Every pearl of memory added to my chain is something I hope to take away with me when this long journey is over. I admire and respect these people more than I am able to succinctly say. So for you, who are out there and I don't talk to anymore, know that I think of you. That I admire you, and miss you every day. Thank you, for all I learned from you. And for you, handsome, who are there but "not in the same capacity," (even when conversation is sometimes like pulling teeth from a chicken) thank you too. You blew my corners off, darlin'. There is nothing I could give you in return for all the windows you opened in my world. I'm learning to live with the chill.
~ Mar
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