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The past week brought me a few personal revelations. Some silly, like: I have nothing left to say, why did I start this blog? Some more realistic: Isn’t it funny how you can think you are doing really well and then totally fall apart? And some ironic: For someone who cries almost daily, how do I get a clogged tear duct? On my way to New York I was shut down, struggling to find tears and looking for beauty and poetry in books and my playlist to evoke real emotion and connection. I think that it is the power of art to remind you of your true heart. Often, and especially when facing a difficult personal transition, you don’t ease into the next stage right away because you need to recover or find who you are in uncharted circumstances. I don’t think I fully appreciated until recently that not being able to move on can be because you are still as attached as ever to a person, idea, or location. Which is fucked up, because time has moved you to places that make it impossible to go back, to return to what once was once new, pure, and beautiful. Visiting New York again this year under very different emotional and physical circumstances: no blizzard to trek through, no company to entertain me, and three months of personal exploration (notice the avoidance of the word growth) to shape my experience. Everything has changed, I have changed, but I feel just as raw emotionally as I did months ago, like not a day has passed. It’s like a song keeps playing in my head and I need to figure out what it has to say. I honestly have no idea how much longer it will take for me to shift and begin to feel a sense of anger, release, or reconciliation. But, I do know that challenging myself to get out in the world is remaking me a little more everyday. Into what? Still not sure...
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little limbs
soft breath sharp knees but it’s the arm, the little arm, wrapped around my neck holding my hair in her fist that gets me her leg over mine as if trying to fold the two of us together but we fit like a puzzle because she is made from me and she has my hair, my freckles, my heart I pull her close rest my cheek on her head and tell her I love her even though she can’t hear me over her dreams and I wish this was enough for both of us Always there is a tune in my head that
I cannot stop hearing a story of us and a feeling of longing sometimes the song is loud and poundin rattling my bones sometimes soft and melancholy caressing my skin but it is always unfinished, drawn out and the lyrics are raw, like me when I think of what is lost and how time changes everything and nothing at the same time but the beat is my heart and it is strong and can go on until the end finally comes and the next song begins I have spent a considerable amount of time mourning this year. Mourning death, heartbreak, and some dreams it was time to let go. Of course, I have also spent quite some time reflecting on how this mourning was tangled in so much love, laughter, rediscovered friendships, and adventure. It is also true that not all the mourning was bad and not all the laughter joyful. But the adventure has been the real touchstone. Because no matter where we go and with who, alone or with a crowd, we are taking ourselves along for the ride.
I have mentioned before that milestones have never really been something for me to celebrate, so the idea that I am making something special out of the year I turn 40, that I am setting goals for celebrating a milestone, is a big deal. In addition, the spontaneity with which I am jumping in is a new thing for me. In general, I am a planner. I am a master at efficiency, organization, and overthinking (as anyone who knows me well will tell you), sometimes to the detriment of being able to let go of my expectations. But in the last year, I have embraced spontaneity in a new way by making big decisions for my life and then figuring out how they will work later. Putting my needs first is also something new, because I am giver and am happiest when others are taken care of or their needs are being met. Like many introverts, I have always been pretty self sufficient. I am friendly, but I hate the point where small talk gets awkward and I would prefer to have a plan when talking to someone in person if I do not know them well. I like my solitude and am pretty good company for myself. Usually, I am the loneliest in a group of people. So, the idea of traveling alone was both an easy decision and a challenging reality. |
Celerah HewesJust your ordinary introvert exploring and writing about some of the things I love: travel, music, and being human. Categories
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