I may have a job (internship, really) in NYC this summer!
Jen Bekman Gallery
6 Spring Street
New York, NY 10012
http://www.jenbekman.com/
I got this email from the Gallery Manager, Lindsey Wolkowicz:
--
Peter,
Hi and thanks for your interest in an internship with Jen Bekman Gallery.
I have been reviewing resumes all week and yours definitely stands out. I would love to have the chance to meet with you and discuss the internship further. When would you actually be available to meet/ when are you next in NYC? I am ideally looking to fill positions now and will most likely need to bring a few other people on when summer hits so if your planned arrival in NY is not for a while I would encourage you to be in touch with me as that date draws closer and we can work it out.
I am glad that you enjoy the gallery and look forward to meeting you. Please feel free to call or email me at any time.
Thanks again!
Best,
Lindsey
--
This is a really, really important break for me. I've been sending out applications, resumes, and cover letters left and right for the past two months. I haven't heard back from most places, except the big museums to tell me that their internship programs were filled in December... oops!
This all escalated into a really awful conversation with my parents on Tuesday morning. I got up super early because I had not been able to sleep, and so at 7:30 AM I struck out to Bloom to pick up some more green tea, peanut butter and toilet paper. I thought it would be good to check in with my parents early in the day, so that I wouldn't have to call them later when I was busy. We started talking about this summer, and the conversation quickly took a turn for the worse. And when I say worse, I mean awful. Wild accusations were sent flying at each other, hurtful things were said, and generally we were so anti-productive, except in the arena of emotional destructive behavior. I spent an hour in Bloom, walking up and down the aisles, and finally stopping in the soup aisle, where I spent the last half-hour on the phone with my Mom, trying to fight back having a meltdown and also trying to remain cogent.
I finally ended the conversation, paid for my staple items (so innocent in the wake of the argument), and then promptly got in my car and cried for 10 minutes. It's been a really long time since I last cried. I didn't cry when my dog Roxi died two weeks ago. I didn't cry when I found out that Grant Simmons, an older man from the Adirondacks and friend of my grandparents with whom I'd built quite the friendship over games of backgammon, watching Wimbledon, going canoeing, or telling stories around big fires on summer nights, died a few weeks ago. I also didn't break down on the anniversary of Cristin Duprey's-- a classmate from St. Andrew's-- untimely death in February. There have been so many moments where I have had sufficient reason to emote, but I don't. Or rather, I didn't, although both work in an understanding of the emotional disconnect happening there.
It always really freaks me out when I cry, because it's so seldom. It usually means that I'm at the end of my rope, in some way. It has only come when I'm in major periods of transition, or deep deep bouts of the blues (July 2007, anyone?). Therefore, crying in my car, in the parking lot of Bloom, was really out of place. I'm in a better-than-usual spot right now, which is great because it's in turn making me re-evaluate what I mean when I say "usual" in that construction. Things with Tom are going-- a little shaky, but I'm starting to believe that's just going to be the nature of the beast-- the weather is beautiful, I've been doing lots of yoga, my honors thesis proposal is finished its first stage of formulation, I've had an amazing time with my friends recently, and last weekend was one of the best weekends I've had this year. Why, then, was I crying, almost uncontrollably, in my car at 8:45 AM?
I think it really comes to a mass of issues that are tied to my position at this school. I never planned to come to W&M, except that near the time when I was having to make my college decisions they offered me an incredibly generous scholarship that quickly turned my focus from Penn and Middlebury, and I decided to give it a shot, knowing that if not I could easily transfer back up North. In a way, I made the decision based not on what I felt about the school, but what I had gleaned from a few key conversations with professors (Anne Rasmussen, George Greenia, Tamara Sonn and Talbot Taylor), a walk through of the campus on my own, a tour, and 24 hours spent in Williamsburg. It all happened so quickly, and I very soon afterwards regretted my decision to choose scholarship over where I really wanted to go. Even so, I thought that if I completed a first year at W&M within the scholarship program that I could hopefully transfer wherever I wanted or needed to the following year.
W&M is a 5.5 hour drive from my house. I'm one of the out-of-state students, which means that I'm of the 33% that aren't from VA. If you then think about that demographic, you have to include ALL of the international and national students, so I am quickly reduced, numerically, to a very small percentage of students from my general geographic area, background, education range, etc. I've met about 10 students who attended boarding school at W&M. I met that many students when I went on the tour at Middlebury. I'm not saying it's a bad thing-- actually, it's probably even better, really-- but it's just that W&M was a huge shake-up of everything that I had expected. No one really cared about Pennsylvania, St. Andrew's, or really most of those defining characteristics in my biography. But quite frankly, I don't blame them. So many of them had friends coming into school that it was hard to figure out where I fit in. But, as Bob Dylan said, and which is so often quoted it's gone beyond cliche: "You just gotta keep on keepin on." I've finally reached a space where I feel like I belong here, and that I'm proud of being here.
But the thing is, W&M is far enough away that my parents only come down once a year. Usually it's for a quick visit-- maybe 36 hours at most. It's tough for me, in a way that I never really understood until Tuesday morning. I rely on them for so much-- I am so in awe of their place in life-- how they've built this life up from the ground up. They're probably my main source of inspiration-- they've taught me so much on how to be socially integrated, morally minded, and kind, and really what I want is to be as good of a person when I'm older as my parents are now. But, because of this, it's really hard for me when I don't get to see them that often. Sure, I went to boarding school, which began the whole trend at the age of 14, but then they could come down for soccer games, crew races, musicals, and singing events, because I was only an hour away. Here, they miss out on basically all of my a cappella concerts, every single play I was in, and the day-to-day activities that make this place so special for me. I'm having to confront being away from them in a way that is much different than I had expected. Because I've been living away from home since I was 14, I assumed that I had already made the transition away from the nest-- that I didn't need the physical presence of my parents much anymore. But the more these three years at W&M have worn on, the more I realize how much energy I derive from their presence-- how I really wish, above anyone else in the world, that they could see me do what I'm doing here. Unfortunately, they also both work full-time, so it's hard to even get them on the same page with what I'm doing academically. They really try, but contemporary art is so separate from their spheres that it's very difficult to reach a middle ground. They both tried to read my 45 page final paper for W&M in DC last year on the avant-garde at the Hirshhorn, and they got through 3 pages and then put it down for good. It's tough, because at least if I could only share one thing, it would be the academics.
I've also targeted something which reaches further back than all of these more immediate issues. When I was in middle school, my sister went through really intensive changes in schooling methods, tutoring, and diagnostic testing for her difference in learning style. While I never felt consciously it was hard on me, I really feel like I pushed the thought so far from my presence of mind that it just seemed to be a non-issue. But I started doing all of my projects on my own-- spending hours upon hours in my room, completing posters on American History, reading Jack London, or teaching myself algebra, all the while interspersed with hours of Lego building. I began to rely almost entirely on my own capacity for learning and success, so that when I did well on a test or paper I no longer felt the need to show it to anyone. That was MY creation-- I wasn't offered any help, proofreading, or anything-- I had myself to blame, or reward, for my own doing.
The thing I feel pretty fortunate about is that I haven't really failed that much. I've always loved school and really spent a huge amount of time developing a perfectionist paradigm that I've found to be very helpful. I think, though, that it really comes from those hours in my room, deciding that I had to execute everything perfectly, or else I would have to be wholly held accountable. So, from then on, I worked harder than I ever had, and I got into St. Andrew's School in Middletown, DE. From there, I pushed myself in classes, got on the honors track, and began making my own academic decisions, in terms of choosing the science track over history, music theory over visual arts, and psychology over ethics. I started to feel really proud of my work. I was recognized a few times during high school in very public ways for my academic and social achievements at school, and while my parents were there for the ceremonies, I had this internal sense of wholeness. I began to derive a sense of completeness from academic success. Therefore, when I was nominated for the W&M scholarship and got it, it just felt like reciprocation for how hard I'd worked in school.
Academics have always come naturally to me. It's actually become a weird point of contention in some social situations, because I've found it just to be easier to be totally silent about them. I really dont' like to bring up a lot of my own successes publicly, because I've cultivated a hyper-modesty with so many things, because of my own past issues with success (as if I revealed that yes, I did do well, that it would be evanescent and I would lose ability), body image, sports, and family, so that I often find it easier just to not talk about myself. I went through most of freshman year never mentioning the Murray Scholarship, so when I had to go to functions with dignitaries, President Nichol, W&M deans, etc. I made up alternative stories of where I was going, or I was just very evasive. I felt like I almost had to hide the fact that I'd been chosen to be a Murray Scholar. Only recently have I really began to embrace the whole thing, and I think it comes from an opening up of my own self to my flaws. Over the past year I've been very conscious to expose my flaws to myself, speak openly to them, and then reconcile. It's been really good for me in terms of how I interact with people now-- I feel like a much more full, complete and invigorated person. I still have tons of skeletons and things that will trip me up, but overall I've really started to win many of the battles against them.
Anyway, I'm rambling now, but basically on Tuesday morning I realized that I just miss my parents desperately. And the fact that I had so completely attacked them on basis of their word, character, and role as parents hurt me more than I could have imagined. I was hurt by their lack of interest with my life here-- how they never visit, don't show any interest in my romantic relationships (until I bring it up, and then they're totally there with me), ask me about my academics, or do the things that so many of my friends' parents do here. I've really felt like an island at W&M for so long, but I'm beginning to feel so much more connected (for all the reasons I've listed before). And it was because of that that I collected myself after a good 10 minutes of hard, hard crying, and drove myself home, took a shower, made some green tea and oatmeal, and spent the next four hours applying for new jobs in NYC. I just had to keep trucking. I had to do what I knew how to do. As Dan said to me the other day-- this is my "Make it Work" moment. I have so much to offer and look forward to, that I need to move on. And again, as Dan has reminded me, each day things in the past get a little easier. So, I just need to sleep on things, be more patient, and embrace the schisms in my life's rhythms.
OK... phew. That was a lot more intense than I had been planning. But YES-- I may have a job at this gallery in NYC this summer. And I've gotten accepted into the 3 week Sotheby's Institute program on Contemporary Art in NYC for the month of June. Things are coming together, and my honors thesis proposal is in the process, and I'm looking upwards. This email this morning has re-energized me.
I can only thank my friends who have pushed me, sometimes more harshly than I would have thought necessary at the time (but in retrospect have been totally on target), to keep on reaching higher. I have the incredible gift of an amazing support system-- people who are so wholly genuine and full of compassion, kindness, and and beauty. I really could not have gotten through this week without them. So, thank you-- you all know who you are. And I only hope that in moments of these in your lives that you'll feel free to call on me.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
You Say The World Has Lost Its Love-- I Say Embrace What It's Made Of
It's been a long while since I've updated this thing. It's pretty hard to find time to sit down and thoughtfully collect a grouping of ideas and words to convey the larger and smaller changes in my life; however, I've just started letter writing again, so I'm re-teaching myself the ability to slow down, carefully choose my words, and write not solely for myself. So, here we go. Maybe those changes will affect my blogging fervor (or really lack thereof currently). We'll see.
OK. So, it's March 23. I have no clue where this month has gone-- I sincerely feel like I've only just finished getting through February.
It's weird for me to think about February, actually. Historically, February has always been the single most difficult month for me to deal with, but not for all the usual reasons of Seasonal Affective Disorder, lack of daylight, intense cold, etc. It's most because there are always huge decisions or life changes that happen for me in February. Maybe it's the end of the holiday season, which means I have more time to genuinely re-connect with myself in an introspective way that is not pressured by the conflicts of exams, family events, celebrations, parties, vacations, etc. February usually is a time where there should be an uneasy calm. I've always put on Dar Williams' song "February" multiple times during the month, letting the words swirl with the cello and guitar and wash over me. I can feel the song open up in a way that it cannot in any other month-- maybe that's because we have so concretely associated these really ambiguous ideas of time and space into specific lapses, such as seconds, minutes, and months, and really in the end it's totally negligible-- and I can again understand the full extent of the pain in the song. Usually in April when I listen to "February" I can hear strains of hope through the decay of the character's relationship, but usually during a cold evening of gray overcast dismal weather, when I retreat to my bed with socks and a sweatshirt on to keep warm, I will put the song on and I am transported into an almost visual pain. It's cathartic beyond being simply an impulse. Kandinsky, in the early 20th Century, explored through painting the synaesthesia of music and art, claiming that there is an inextricable connection between the two, wherein specific notes, phrases, or dynamics would translate visually. I have sometimes been able to "see" February-- I can almost step into that world so wholly and fully.
And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together.
You stopped and pointed and you said, "Thats a crocus,"
And I said, "Whats a crocus?" and you said, "Its a flower,"
I tried to remember, but I said, "Whats a flower?"
You said, "I still love you."
While I've never personally experienced fully the type of decay in a relationship that is explained in the song, I can enter into that world to a certain extent. More often than not it's a relationship with myself that I'm imagining-- it's the projection of an idea made into a figure-- a character-- that is an amalgamation of me, the type of person I feel I should be with, the type of person I'm told I should be with, and then a collection of the people I've been linked with romantically. I can hear Dar Williams sing those lyrics and feel that I can see myself having that conversation-- the disconnect so fully with any normalcy or healthiness in a relationship. I can project myself into that spot, and I don't think it's because I necessarily want to be there-- No longer am I so completely personally sabotaging my emotional ability to connect with others in an intimate way, so I don't see the projection as self-motivated as a defense mechanism; rather, I think I have been at that point in my life with other things, and I can understand the type of pain. And in a way, it's very refreshing for me to be able to feel that. It makes me feel like I'm still very much attuned to my emotional capabilities and range, and I no longer vilify a range of emotions-- I don't see it as a weakness to be able to feel either depressed, ecstatic, joyous, calm, or tragic. I see it as the journey that keeps me together by keeping me oscillating around a large range. I don't deny that I have at times desired so wholly the ability to be only one emotion. But now I understand that there is an ebb and flow, and I'm trying to keep myself at a point of clarity.
The leaves were turning as we drove to the hardware store,
My new lover made me keys to the house,
And when we got home, well we just started chopping wood,
Because you never know how next year will be,
And well gather all our arms can carry,
I have lost to February.
The whole reason I brought up the song "February" is to say that this year was the first year since I first heard the song that I didn't have the same reaction. I didn't put it on and wish for March to get here, to be able to say goodbye once more to February and usher in the spring. To be honest, I never once thought about it in that way. It's odd, actually, because I even got to see Dar Williams sing "February" in concert when we performed with her at the Kimball Theatre near the beginning of the month. But whereas I usually get close to tears when she plays it in concert, I simply enjoyed being there for the moment, but it didn't wreck me. The month of February passed with relatively few scars, if any, really. I don't know if this is part of anything in particular, or simply that I'm growing out of needing that song to be so completely and utterly my emotional manifestation. But it's a very calming feeling, regardless.
Things have been, overall, very good recently. I know that if you've recently spoken with me in any sort of moment of intense calm, change, or profound understanding, you'll know that I've been talking a lot about my "New Phase." My ex-boyfriend Andrew would (and still) uses many linguistic constructions in which a word is capitalized and becomes a concept or a structure and therefore abandons in a way its original intention, so for example he espouses the idea of "The Process," which effectually includes a wide array of events, ideas, beliefs, and relationships that formulate an almost metaphysical fabric of being. It's the feeling that there is an order, or that there should be, or that you're creating one, and you fit into it in a specific way, and the understanding of that leads to a clarity. Thinking in this way has really made me re-evaluate the ways in which I have always shied away from labeling the eras of my life. I've felt that if you try to verbalize concisely the shifts and turns that you're imposing a direction without letting them grow organically to the extent of their potential. But now, I've found a lot of clarity with putting words to my huge movements in life-- I know that I don't have to feel like I don't fully own my own body and self. One thing that I've found in the past year is that I've really gotten much closer to my own physical and emotional being in a way that I'm no longer intimidated by or ashamed and hateful of its being. I have been able to reach a much healthier state, and I think that I really deserve that. I feel like I've really battled a lot in the past eight years in such a completely silent way, that I'm finally tired of fighting, and I'm realizing that I don't really need to. I don't buy everyone who says that they are totally in love with themselves always and forever, because body image is never perfect or flawless, but I've found that I've been able to reform my old sentiments and just be able to make peace with them. I don't deny their existence, or that they've been a major part of my life, but I know that and I accept it. It doesn't, however, mean that it has to still be such a big part.
It's part of The New Phase. I have thrown myself into Art History, which has totally opened my eyes and ears to so many new ways of thinking and conceptualizing my universe. I've realized that I actually DO have a really great core group of friends. I think I've realized that I'm no longer aligning myself with people that would ultimately let me down or really not want to build a genuine connection with me. I don't really count SAS (high school) as much in that, simply because that was a life unto itself which will always be a 4 year segment of my being that I can never return to but will always be so fundamentally a part of me. But I remember that up until then I would choose friends that seemed to be the right people, but who ultimately weren't always in the end the right ones. But, here and now I feel I've really embraced with open arms a group of people that are so beautiful, witty, and kind. I am incredibly grateful for them, and it's made me realize that I am OK with being here at W&M. It's been a really hard road, and there are still a lot of other issues, but the people are getting me by, and that right now is the most important thing. Part of The New Phase is being more social, and much less reclusive. I'm trying to throw myself out there more-- to say yes when people ask me to do things. To pick up when people call me and not screen every call. I'm trying to be better, and I really feel like there have been some amazingly positive results.
One of those, and one of the most important, is that I've started to date the first guy that I've ever really dated at W&M. Up until then I was very much resigned to not dating on campus, and I had really grown accustomed to it, and had made a semblance of peace with it. But dating Tom has really opened my eyes to a lot of things about myself. I consider this the first functional relationship I've had since dating Jessica in high school. Which therefore means it's the first functional relationship I've entered into with another guy. I realize that I've put up so many walls that have precluded me from fully engaging in a thoughtful and reciprocal emotional exchange with another guy, as some major defense mechanisms. I'm trying to tear those down now, and to have the desire to do so is really inspiring. In the beginning I was full of a grand sense of possibility and excitement about what the future would hold, and I realized that that was exactly how I was in the beginning of all my past relationships. But I've actually moved past that now. I've transitioned into a new space which is a place I've never really reached before. To be sort of crude in my explanation of it (simply because I am still trying to fully understand it myself), I feel it's that I'm realizing that I can go without thinking about him all the time and still be OK. It's not complacency or a retreat of emotions; rather, I'm starting to understand that it doesn't mean I don't have to see him or talk to him, but just that I'm not so fixated upon it. There's a bit of a distance, but I translate that distance into a benefit of the relationship. I don't see it as negative, but that I'm starting to get to the point that I am letting myself be in a relationship but not have it be emotionally wrecking. I'm really not explaining this well, but when I see him I still get a rush of happiness and I involuntarily smile. We spent all day together yesterday, and we laughed in such a genuine and authentic way-- a way that I've never really ever felt before. It's the acknowledgment that I'm letting him in closer than I ever have with guys or girls before in relationships, and I'm not so wholly wrapped up in worrying that I'm going to get hurt. There's a calm there now which is very invigorating.
I've also start to begin to understand something that my Mom and Dad have always said to me-- that a relationship that is meaningful is probably one of the hardest things, if not the hardest things to do. In their case, they're discussing their marriage, as that is their collective point of reference, but I'm slowly getting what they've said. Tom and my relationship IS a lot of work. I have to convince myself that it's a good idea to go over to TDX and spend time with him and his friends in HIS space, because there is still a big part of me that freaks out about having to be so social and open. I still get those pangs of the recent me that says that it'd be safer and better if I just stayed home. I have to also tell myself that he actually does like me-- that it's not a mirage, that it's not a fantasy. I'm starting to get what it means to let yourself be liked, and maybe that's because I'm starting to do that with myself.
But I realize that there are issues, and I'm beginning to build a collection of tools to deal with them. If there's one major thing this relationship has taught me, it's patience. It's knowing that we are very much two different people, with very different interests and groups of friends. Sometimes I look at Tom and I just am so completely baffled-- I don't get why we're together or what the draw is. But then I step back from that and realize that it just IS. There doesn't always have to be a tidy logic for everything. He's making me a more honest person with myself and with him, because I also am getting to know that that really is the only way to sustain a healthy relationship. I'm trying to be better about letting him in and also working to fix the issues that make it rough. But I realize that he's making me WANT to fix them, and I've never really felt that before.
Really, what it comes down to is the end is much much greater than the means. It is worth it because it is. The bumps along the way are bumps, and they need to be paved out. But it's not something to run away from. It's learning to embrace the cracks in the road, and keep on driving.
And that's a good place to end. It's been a great weekend-- from throwing a really fun and slightly crazy party here on Friday, to the TDX VIP party last night, and then shopping with Dan today-- it's been a good weekend. From here on out it's going to get really busy and crazy, but my head is, for the most part, on straight, and I'm ready to start wearing polo shirts and shorts again.
OK. So, it's March 23. I have no clue where this month has gone-- I sincerely feel like I've only just finished getting through February.
It's weird for me to think about February, actually. Historically, February has always been the single most difficult month for me to deal with, but not for all the usual reasons of Seasonal Affective Disorder, lack of daylight, intense cold, etc. It's most because there are always huge decisions or life changes that happen for me in February. Maybe it's the end of the holiday season, which means I have more time to genuinely re-connect with myself in an introspective way that is not pressured by the conflicts of exams, family events, celebrations, parties, vacations, etc. February usually is a time where there should be an uneasy calm. I've always put on Dar Williams' song "February" multiple times during the month, letting the words swirl with the cello and guitar and wash over me. I can feel the song open up in a way that it cannot in any other month-- maybe that's because we have so concretely associated these really ambiguous ideas of time and space into specific lapses, such as seconds, minutes, and months, and really in the end it's totally negligible-- and I can again understand the full extent of the pain in the song. Usually in April when I listen to "February" I can hear strains of hope through the decay of the character's relationship, but usually during a cold evening of gray overcast dismal weather, when I retreat to my bed with socks and a sweatshirt on to keep warm, I will put the song on and I am transported into an almost visual pain. It's cathartic beyond being simply an impulse. Kandinsky, in the early 20th Century, explored through painting the synaesthesia of music and art, claiming that there is an inextricable connection between the two, wherein specific notes, phrases, or dynamics would translate visually. I have sometimes been able to "see" February-- I can almost step into that world so wholly and fully.
And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together.
You stopped and pointed and you said, "Thats a crocus,"
And I said, "Whats a crocus?" and you said, "Its a flower,"
I tried to remember, but I said, "Whats a flower?"
You said, "I still love you."
While I've never personally experienced fully the type of decay in a relationship that is explained in the song, I can enter into that world to a certain extent. More often than not it's a relationship with myself that I'm imagining-- it's the projection of an idea made into a figure-- a character-- that is an amalgamation of me, the type of person I feel I should be with, the type of person I'm told I should be with, and then a collection of the people I've been linked with romantically. I can hear Dar Williams sing those lyrics and feel that I can see myself having that conversation-- the disconnect so fully with any normalcy or healthiness in a relationship. I can project myself into that spot, and I don't think it's because I necessarily want to be there-- No longer am I so completely personally sabotaging my emotional ability to connect with others in an intimate way, so I don't see the projection as self-motivated as a defense mechanism; rather, I think I have been at that point in my life with other things, and I can understand the type of pain. And in a way, it's very refreshing for me to be able to feel that. It makes me feel like I'm still very much attuned to my emotional capabilities and range, and I no longer vilify a range of emotions-- I don't see it as a weakness to be able to feel either depressed, ecstatic, joyous, calm, or tragic. I see it as the journey that keeps me together by keeping me oscillating around a large range. I don't deny that I have at times desired so wholly the ability to be only one emotion. But now I understand that there is an ebb and flow, and I'm trying to keep myself at a point of clarity.
The leaves were turning as we drove to the hardware store,
My new lover made me keys to the house,
And when we got home, well we just started chopping wood,
Because you never know how next year will be,
And well gather all our arms can carry,
I have lost to February.
The whole reason I brought up the song "February" is to say that this year was the first year since I first heard the song that I didn't have the same reaction. I didn't put it on and wish for March to get here, to be able to say goodbye once more to February and usher in the spring. To be honest, I never once thought about it in that way. It's odd, actually, because I even got to see Dar Williams sing "February" in concert when we performed with her at the Kimball Theatre near the beginning of the month. But whereas I usually get close to tears when she plays it in concert, I simply enjoyed being there for the moment, but it didn't wreck me. The month of February passed with relatively few scars, if any, really. I don't know if this is part of anything in particular, or simply that I'm growing out of needing that song to be so completely and utterly my emotional manifestation. But it's a very calming feeling, regardless.
Things have been, overall, very good recently. I know that if you've recently spoken with me in any sort of moment of intense calm, change, or profound understanding, you'll know that I've been talking a lot about my "New Phase." My ex-boyfriend Andrew would (and still) uses many linguistic constructions in which a word is capitalized and becomes a concept or a structure and therefore abandons in a way its original intention, so for example he espouses the idea of "The Process," which effectually includes a wide array of events, ideas, beliefs, and relationships that formulate an almost metaphysical fabric of being. It's the feeling that there is an order, or that there should be, or that you're creating one, and you fit into it in a specific way, and the understanding of that leads to a clarity. Thinking in this way has really made me re-evaluate the ways in which I have always shied away from labeling the eras of my life. I've felt that if you try to verbalize concisely the shifts and turns that you're imposing a direction without letting them grow organically to the extent of their potential. But now, I've found a lot of clarity with putting words to my huge movements in life-- I know that I don't have to feel like I don't fully own my own body and self. One thing that I've found in the past year is that I've really gotten much closer to my own physical and emotional being in a way that I'm no longer intimidated by or ashamed and hateful of its being. I have been able to reach a much healthier state, and I think that I really deserve that. I feel like I've really battled a lot in the past eight years in such a completely silent way, that I'm finally tired of fighting, and I'm realizing that I don't really need to. I don't buy everyone who says that they are totally in love with themselves always and forever, because body image is never perfect or flawless, but I've found that I've been able to reform my old sentiments and just be able to make peace with them. I don't deny their existence, or that they've been a major part of my life, but I know that and I accept it. It doesn't, however, mean that it has to still be such a big part.
It's part of The New Phase. I have thrown myself into Art History, which has totally opened my eyes and ears to so many new ways of thinking and conceptualizing my universe. I've realized that I actually DO have a really great core group of friends. I think I've realized that I'm no longer aligning myself with people that would ultimately let me down or really not want to build a genuine connection with me. I don't really count SAS (high school) as much in that, simply because that was a life unto itself which will always be a 4 year segment of my being that I can never return to but will always be so fundamentally a part of me. But I remember that up until then I would choose friends that seemed to be the right people, but who ultimately weren't always in the end the right ones. But, here and now I feel I've really embraced with open arms a group of people that are so beautiful, witty, and kind. I am incredibly grateful for them, and it's made me realize that I am OK with being here at W&M. It's been a really hard road, and there are still a lot of other issues, but the people are getting me by, and that right now is the most important thing. Part of The New Phase is being more social, and much less reclusive. I'm trying to throw myself out there more-- to say yes when people ask me to do things. To pick up when people call me and not screen every call. I'm trying to be better, and I really feel like there have been some amazingly positive results.
One of those, and one of the most important, is that I've started to date the first guy that I've ever really dated at W&M. Up until then I was very much resigned to not dating on campus, and I had really grown accustomed to it, and had made a semblance of peace with it. But dating Tom has really opened my eyes to a lot of things about myself. I consider this the first functional relationship I've had since dating Jessica in high school. Which therefore means it's the first functional relationship I've entered into with another guy. I realize that I've put up so many walls that have precluded me from fully engaging in a thoughtful and reciprocal emotional exchange with another guy, as some major defense mechanisms. I'm trying to tear those down now, and to have the desire to do so is really inspiring. In the beginning I was full of a grand sense of possibility and excitement about what the future would hold, and I realized that that was exactly how I was in the beginning of all my past relationships. But I've actually moved past that now. I've transitioned into a new space which is a place I've never really reached before. To be sort of crude in my explanation of it (simply because I am still trying to fully understand it myself), I feel it's that I'm realizing that I can go without thinking about him all the time and still be OK. It's not complacency or a retreat of emotions; rather, I'm starting to understand that it doesn't mean I don't have to see him or talk to him, but just that I'm not so fixated upon it. There's a bit of a distance, but I translate that distance into a benefit of the relationship. I don't see it as negative, but that I'm starting to get to the point that I am letting myself be in a relationship but not have it be emotionally wrecking. I'm really not explaining this well, but when I see him I still get a rush of happiness and I involuntarily smile. We spent all day together yesterday, and we laughed in such a genuine and authentic way-- a way that I've never really ever felt before. It's the acknowledgment that I'm letting him in closer than I ever have with guys or girls before in relationships, and I'm not so wholly wrapped up in worrying that I'm going to get hurt. There's a calm there now which is very invigorating.
I've also start to begin to understand something that my Mom and Dad have always said to me-- that a relationship that is meaningful is probably one of the hardest things, if not the hardest things to do. In their case, they're discussing their marriage, as that is their collective point of reference, but I'm slowly getting what they've said. Tom and my relationship IS a lot of work. I have to convince myself that it's a good idea to go over to TDX and spend time with him and his friends in HIS space, because there is still a big part of me that freaks out about having to be so social and open. I still get those pangs of the recent me that says that it'd be safer and better if I just stayed home. I have to also tell myself that he actually does like me-- that it's not a mirage, that it's not a fantasy. I'm starting to get what it means to let yourself be liked, and maybe that's because I'm starting to do that with myself.
But I realize that there are issues, and I'm beginning to build a collection of tools to deal with them. If there's one major thing this relationship has taught me, it's patience. It's knowing that we are very much two different people, with very different interests and groups of friends. Sometimes I look at Tom and I just am so completely baffled-- I don't get why we're together or what the draw is. But then I step back from that and realize that it just IS. There doesn't always have to be a tidy logic for everything. He's making me a more honest person with myself and with him, because I also am getting to know that that really is the only way to sustain a healthy relationship. I'm trying to be better about letting him in and also working to fix the issues that make it rough. But I realize that he's making me WANT to fix them, and I've never really felt that before.
Really, what it comes down to is the end is much much greater than the means. It is worth it because it is. The bumps along the way are bumps, and they need to be paved out. But it's not something to run away from. It's learning to embrace the cracks in the road, and keep on driving.
And that's a good place to end. It's been a great weekend-- from throwing a really fun and slightly crazy party here on Friday, to the TDX VIP party last night, and then shopping with Dan today-- it's been a good weekend. From here on out it's going to get really busy and crazy, but my head is, for the most part, on straight, and I'm ready to start wearing polo shirts and shorts again.
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