Beautiful... I missed the days when you just wrote like this...honestly I love you more now, because I feel your struggle, your honesty, your truth in this piece. It doesn’t matter whether you are in love or not, or that you feel we cannot relate. This piece makes us relate It is the way you put words on paper, that causes people to listen. I feel the love in this poem and I want you to be happy. [written in response to Hiding]
--- Your Biggest Fan
--- Your Biggest Fan
Oh my. You don’t know how good this makes me feel. I’ve missed myself lately. And word on the street is that a few people are worried about the things my writings are describing. Well, I didn’t share this with you folks yet, but I gave up giving a f.ck for Lent. I know that sounds crazy but hear me out. I spent a lot of my time handing my emotions out like they were flyers to a club. Now, even with that, I don’t show or even entertain my emotions as most as other folks I know, but still, it was a lot for me. I was unhappy with myself, with my gift, with my career (or lack thereof), with my parenting and with my close relationships. I should explain that better, so let me get comfortable. I was unhappy with myself for feelings things I thought I wasn’t allowed to feel. I was loving someone I didn’t think I was good enough for. I had too much baggage for him. I was too flirtatious for his liking. I was too accessible to be considered his girlfriend. I was too angry to be kind sometimes, too aloof to be conscious. So I was mad at myself for deliberately asking for a specific type of man and then not knowing what to do with him when he showed up on my doorstep. Then I was mad with my writing. It’s such a vast sea to swim in. There’s so many thoughts, secrets and lives writing affects. Here I was, finally willing to share all the things that I had learned and then I had to worry about violating someone else’s privacy, I had to consider someone else’s feelings. I had to dig deep into the skill of writing to create enough imagery that people wouldn’t be attracted to the gossip, but rather engulfed by the message. I had to consider the feelings of the very men and women who had no regard for mine. My writing was legitimately calling on a higher power. Then I was especially pissed at my career. How can I manage to merge my life, my education and my bills to create a career that I love and also loves me back. There was responsible and there was crazy. Being a writer requires a lot of both. What else was I mad at? Oh my parenting. My kid is amazing and no I’m not saying that because she’s mine. She is truly an amazing spirit. People always stop me and say, it’s like she’s been here before and I know this to be true. My little girl has wisdom for blood, but she eats entirely too much sugar, she’s usually late for her bedtime and I don’t get to spend as much time with her as I like. These things wear on a parent’s soul. Things like that sometimes make us feel insufficient, incompetent and just overall not good enough. It’s not every day but even if these thoughts float through your brain one day a month, it’s enough to beat yourself up for. Last but certainly not least, my close relationships were trying me. I had to call on God because I was sure to send some of these people back to their maker. Then I felt like God wasn’t hearing me so I looked to Buddhism. I was searching outside of myself for things that were too “mine” to have come from anyone else. And when it comes to close relationships, it’s hard to get a third party opinion to help you with them. People are biased, people love you too hard, some people don’t love you enough and, above all, you can’t betray the other person’s journey by betraying the privacy of it. There are so many rules to being righteous. Even with the best intent, we know the road to hell is paved with good intentions. So let’s just say, there’s a few reasons I strayed from my usual genre of writing and leaned more towards the inner turmoil. This is not to say that I don’t feel happiness and sadness simultaneously sometimes. I feel extreme sadness when I can’t share my happiness with you. It’s almost like I’m cheating you from some great lessons that your journey will offer you. But I believe there will come a day, when I can tell you everything and be loved anyway, it’s just no time soon.
It’s not exactly that I don’t feel you all can’t relate to happiness because I see many of you falling in love, liking people, dating, finding your own path, etc. In fact, I can see that some of you are happy to be righthere [which I’m forever indebted to you for]. I see happiness in a lot of you but even that makes me question if my gift is still as poignant and resounding when it’s coming from a happy place. Look at Adele – a classic record and six grammys (what is the plural version of that word? Does anybody know?) out of heartbreak. I’m writing a book inspired by the heartbreak. But I’m slowly learning that the inspiration and the ending don’t necessarily have to be the same thing. And that’s what I’ve gotten from Lent this year, taking on the responsibility of not giving a f.ck has given me the ability to feel monumental things. I literally removed anger out of my life. I heard things that made me ‘feel’ angry but I learned to ‘feel’ that and move through it in the same breath. I left anger at the foot of the cross. I did not react in anger. I was able to make more room for happiness and more room for love. I was able to experience a momentous love, a “bone crushing, forgive all things, get angry for you” type of love. I found enough space to be empty and enough room to die just to let someone resurrect me again. Funny how that happened during Lent. Either way, I’m on my way back to you, ready to relate, ready to love, and ready to be open to happiness. And whether I fall in love or not, I’ve always been in love with the likes of you. That is why, no matter what I say or how I say it, we relate anyway. I love you. Thank you for missing me. Sometimes, I don’t notice when I’ve left.
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