It’s shocking to me how much the people I loved in Oakland have changed. 2+ years is a long time. I have certainly changed a lot, and so why wouldn’t they? I don’t know why I expected that they would stand still. Is it because our time together felt so static?
Which begs the question, were we holding each other back?
Or were they changing the whole time, and I just didn’t see it, and I was the one who was static? Maybe everything is just more clear in hindsight, and you notice the change more when you aren’t witnessing it in real time– the way a friend from 6 months ago suddenly looks much thinner.
I’ve changed a lot, and I got angry tonight. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but perhaps I’m scared of getting older. Maybe I’m disappointed in what I have(n’t) accomplished. I have been telling myself, “I’m getting to the age where ‘potential’ is embarrassing”– and I mean it as a joke, but there are real knives in there.
I’m going forward as a 27 year old, closer to 30 than I would like. I’m a married woman. I’m a Christian. And I’m still trying to figure out where I fit into all of those things. Me, who for so long defined myself by things that were anything but. I was poly; I am bisexual; I was young and wide-eyed in the great big world.
I was free. Am I still? I feel like I have so many responsibilities, but I don’t know if that’s me or the labels talking.
I’m looking forward to 2018. I have ideas, I have hope. I have a loved companion to share it with. But I’d be lying if I said I was fully happy tonight.
So addicted to overstimulation, but being a consumer is creative death. Sit in silence and let the emptiness fill you, then create instead. Boredom is our friend.
I will tell you a secret, dear. I draw and paint more than I write these days, because I can listen to music and make visual art. I can do it with half a mind and one foot still firmly rooted in Oversaturation (that is to say, the internet).
I have to stop pretending that anyone cares what I say. They don’t, and that is a gift. Trying to play to an invisible audience blinds your creative soul.
Trying to be the next George R.R. Martin is wounding my creative process. Listening to friends who say that fantasy and YA is trash is hurting my creative process. Maybe I’m not a Serious Writer, and I don’t write high literature. I can do a good job of writing my story, or a subpar job of writing someone else’s.
These are the only two options.
And if they like it, good;
and if they don’t like it, good.
We got the annual family newsletter today. The red envelope says “Family is the Best!” It’s my grandma’s project. She’s an amazing woman, a true matriarch. Kind and hard, bullish but gentle. Adventurous and terribly clever.
She went month by month, documenting the highlights and lowlights of the year. I love that my grandma doesn’t sugarcoat things. November says, “My younger brother also passed away this year. I miss him.” The simple, arrow-through-the-heart poignancy of it.
Everyone is trying to put their best foot forward, it’s what social media is made of. We’re reminded every so often not to feel bad for not measuring up to others’ lives, because “it’s a highlight reel.” I praise the realness highlighted here.
“If I hadn’t started writing this letter two months ago, I wouldn’t have finished this year.
I am slipping this letter with love into a blank Christmas card or envelope, no comments but wishing you and your family a Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and a very Healthy New Year.”
Because what is a year made of, but little moments of good and bad, changing tides of fortune. And what is a life made of, if not many such years?
We celebrate the good and the bad here, in this family.
So, I’m married now! It’s been a busy couple of weeks and has barely slowed down yet. I’ve had a few hours here and there to catch my breath, so I thought I’d type up a bit of stream-of-consciousness type post while I have a second.
I thought the wedding vows were really beautiful. I wasn’t expecting to cry, but I got choked up saying the ending, the part that goes with the exchanging of rings:
I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Something about the idea of “holy marriage” got to me, too. As in, “Will you have this man to be your husband, to live together in holy marriage?”
It was heavier than I thought. I’ve been feeling grateful for it, kissed by God, like I have just brushed up against the sacred. I expect that will wear off in the coming weeks, as the newness wears off, but I am enjoying the experience of it for now. I love the things that make me feel close to Him, when I can feel without a doubt that I am held in the palm of His hand.
I’ve been tired lately, looking forward to hibernating after New Years is done. I have so many projects that I need to start work on, but I think a little self-care is in order first. I have dreams of bone broth and tea, curled up on the couch wrapped in a nice blanket. I feel like I’m falling behind.
Might have gotten a modeling/marketing gig for a local startup, so we’ll see how that pans out.
To stand up and be a man.
To stand up and be a woman.
I’ve been tired lately, way down deep in the Everybody Gets There.
The stories push at the bars of my mind, but they don’t get out.
I think of them in there, throwing their bodies at the wall,
growing thinner and smaller, their bright radiance worn off in the stew of time.
The Specialness wears off if you wait too long.
“Stew of time,” I stole that from Rex Wilder.
I’m afraid to speak, but I hate myself when I don’t.
How’s that for a Catch-22?