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.