Three

He sat three feet from me.

Three feet and three years kept us apart and further than I had ever thought I'd be from him three years ago.

He bought me an iced tea and brought his computer, and I mine.

And while not many words nor glances were exchanged, I could feel him there like I hadn't felt in so long.

And he felt good.

-S

The Will to Try

I held back tears 3 times.

Once, when I hugged my friends and sister for the last time before I left. I knew if I looked at them in the eye, if I hugged as tight as I wanted to, if I said anything more, I would lose it.

And then once, when I was in the backseat, halfway to the airport. As my parents went through a checklist of things I made sure to do upon arriving, double checking that I got my wallet, phone, things like that to get their mind off the pressing thought, what are we doing sending our daughter alone to new york city?

And then again, when I hugged my dad before finally parting ways as I got on the escalator.

And then I was fine.

But I would be lying if I didn’t think twice about my dad’s offer before I left. At home, I laughed it off when he said, you can back out if you want, but then at my terminal they called, group 4 boarding now, and just for a second I thought, I could just not go…right now I could just walk away.  I could call dad and he would pick me up without question, wouldn’t even say a word, and I would just quietly and safely go back home and things would be easy and I’d be comfortable again.

And just for a second the thought enticed me, and the thing about those last minute thoughts is that they rarely ever include the part where you’re actually back home and the self-hatred sets in. The voice that says, coward.

While I walked on the plane with dry eyes, I still felt a coward. Because I wish I had left with a real goodbye. Because I wish I didn’t have to fight tears. Because I wish I could’ve been in the room today instead of mentally elsewhere, knowing I was going to leave.

But the truth is, while I may feel a coward, I got on the plane, and that’s a significant thing as any because some days I struggle to even get out of bed.

I struggle to think that things will ever get better.

I struggle to want to want to do anything.

I struggle with feeling like I’m enough.

I struggle with resenting the people I’m closest to, because I also struggle with comparison.

And I could go on.

But right now, I think I need nothing more than being alone and away for 3 weeks. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for me to leave. I’m so afraid to take on these things that have planted such deep roots in me. I’m afraid to let myself break into the million little pieces that are barely taped together. I’m afraid to let God back in.

But I want nothing more than to feel Him right now.

So maybe I’m a coward, and maybe I’m a fraud who talks of big adventures and great courage.

So what. I’m trying.

Good God, I’m trying.

Hell, if that doesn’t take the most courage.

-S

On Realizing Joy in the Truth

I watch other people experience happiness and joy all around me.

I see it everyday, all the time, little things—watching someone leave what looked like a first date with a boyish grin on a blushed face. Or seeing someone laugh, the kind of laugh that comes from deep in the belly, the kind that feels good and full, that demands more breath.

This past week I went camping with some friends, and camping in and of itself is an experience so good for the body and mind.

After a day of ocean waves and skin a few shades darker than when we began, we sat around what once was a fire while we watched the glow of the embers slowly burn out.

My friend then asked every one of us to answer one question, are you experiencing joy right now? 

And I felt my heart stop for a second. And while I know full well that can’t actually happen, I swear I felt it seize in that moment.

One by one each person answered, all the while thinking how I was going to get out of it when my turn came around.

Because I knew if I had to answer, I would lie.

Because I knew I would lie and say yes, sure, when I really meant no.

Because I knew I would list off the things in my life that were currently“working out in my favor” as if those things were reason enough for me be joyful, when I damn well knew I wasn’t.

Because I knew there wasn't a chance I could even muddle out an honest response without crying, or sobbing for that matter.

You see, for the past however many months, I’ve felt this incredible weight on my chest.

Even as I write that I can feel my eyes well up.

I’ve felt this weight on my chest that I can’t describe, except that it is so tangible and all consuming.  It has a way of disconnecting me from everything around me all the while keeping me so very aware of where I am, keeping me on the ground.

I don’t know how something so physical and real and felt on my body can be the very thing that keeps me away from anything and anyone else. And when any one thing can make me cry, it further poses the question if it’s all just one great big thing that makes me feel this way, or a couple of small things. And then there are some days when it could very well be everything.

I’m so far past the point of a meek and gentle tear that when I feel my eyes swell, I’m almost immediately experiencing a heaving sort of sob.

So when one answer by one answer, I get closer to having to respond to, 'are you experiencing joy right now?' I disconnect. I flee.

Every year for the past six birthdays I’ve wished the same exact wish verbatim. I won’t tell you what I wish for because first, if I want it to ever come true, I simply cannot break the age-old rule. Second, while I may usually be quite the rule breaker, this is one I cannot. And third, what fun would that be?

I wish the same wish every year hoping I won’t ever have to make the same wish again. That it will finally be the year the wish comes true. And every year my heart breaks a little more, and I feel the weight of reality pull me down a little more. And every year it gets harder and harder to smile at the candles and look at myself in the mirror at the end of the night.

I say all of this first, because I'll soon be making that wish for the seventh time come August, and I think I've been subconsciously aware of it for quite some time now. 

And second, because I think everyone has that wish they keep at arms length -- that one wish you can’t let yourself give up on.  

The kind of wish that you spend forever wanting and take for granted when it comes true. 

The one that isn’t the miracle you were hoping for when it finally happened. 

The kind that happens and in the moment its just another day, another job, another guy, another kiss, another, another, another. 

And then you get a question like, are you experiencing joy right now? And you think, well hell, if only you asked me that then, and you look back to the moment your wish came true and realize you didn't even notice, and then go on to say, ‘oh that was the best,’ 'that was a really good day,’ ‘I was happy then.’

Finally it became my turn to answer.

I felt the stars glare at me until I spoke. 

I could lie to my friends but the stars, they would see right through me, that much I knew.

So I said, I don’t know. In a rather dismissive, annoyed tone. And while to me it was a happy medium between not answering and lying, I knew I couldn’t get away with just that much when the others before me had really laid it all out. So I continued,

Well does anyone ever answer that question with a true and honest yes? Aren’t we always going to say that there was a time before now when we felt joy, felt happy? Because I don’t believe we ever really feel things when we're in it.  And I hate that. But I think its true.

It was the best I could mutter out considering.

But it was also the most honest and satisfying thing I had said and truly believed in such a long time.

Because in the midst of  far too many months of unanswered tears and a heavy heart, I finally let the weight of I. Dont. Know fully hang on me in the way it demanded to be felt.

Because it’s okay to not know why the tears seem abundant this season.

Because it’s okay to know joy will come and go, ebb and flow, like everything whole and right in this life. It’s not always good, and maybe finding an answer won’t help, if an answer were possible to find.

Because to look for joy, to wish for joy, to question joy, is the very way we cease to experience it.

-S

“One of the hardest things I have had to learn as a writer is that I must 'kill my darlings,' meaning that, sometimes the process means letting go of characters, and chapters, and sentences I really love for the greater good of my writing. It’s not always fun or pretty, and sometimes it hurts.” – Lindy Law

unsung

a tug of war. the undeserving type by which victory always belonged to the courageous. witnessed by empty pages, unsung stories, countless thoughts and further more half concepts yet to be concrete. 

let it be duly noted these past few months have been experience abundant. i have identified with humans i never knew existed. spilled more i-didn’t-see-those-coming tears than i would like to admit (but shame has no place here.) felt the wind of courage whisper before a fear filled escape. understood longing for people, people to be close and to stay. pursued risks i once had no interest in-after all i think it is nothing short of healthy to challenge those things you used to only see one side to. grace has cleansed those wrongs so surely believed about myself and others. i have held back due to self doubt only to be followed by regret. my eyes have seen beautiful things.

all this to say, writing has lingered above my head for what feels decades. whatever the reason may be, my desire to write has been non-existent--while my adoration for writing ever so constant. outlandish, really. my unfinished thoughts about writing are as goes; just as a place is no where without people to be cared for/care about, moments feelings and the way to make sense of it all is nothing without writing (for myself). it seems an injustice to let thoughts go unsung and not shared because what good is it to wake up one day to find i have protected my days, mind and heart. so here i peep out of silence to recognize the remedy, preserver, keeper and beauty that is writing. to deeper understand why i write, the next post will, in simple words express this. 

Sincerely,
B

Almost

Out the window of his car he reached out his arm to make the motion of an ocean wave. The salty wind flew fast raising the hairs on his arm, as the other hand held a firm grip on the ‘2’ of the steering wheel. The sky was tinted pale blue as we drove up the coast, the sun too shy to greet the day. It had been some time since we last saw each other so I had kind of forgotten who he was, but his kind words always had a way of reminding me, the same words that also reminded me why I had let so much time go by without calling him.

For the most part we sat in silence. Time had a way of never touching what we had; recalibration was never necessary. We drove like this for a few hours, no destination, nowhere to be. As I lied back in the passenger seat with my eyes closed I could feel his eyes on me with his mouth in a crooked half smile.

He parked the car facing west as the sun set. The ocean water was still, reflecting the colors of the warm orange sky. I didn’t know where we were but I knew we were far from anywhere I had been before. He retracted his left arm from the window and the life in his eyes grew empty as he looked at me and said, “I’m afraid of the ocean.” He said this so simply, then sat for a while, in silence and repose. The gentle lull of the waves, the gravel beneath the tires, the birds conversing: it was verse, verse, chorus, repeat. This carried time as we watched the sky change and as I watched him change.
"You know how to swim," I said, and turned to look out the window.

His now blank stare fixed on the road as we drove toward familiarity. I never felt his eyes on me again but I had known him well enough to know he never meant what he said and always meant what he implied. We had been here before, many times before. Not to this place, but to this idea that lulled us back and forth, like the ocean.

That was the last day I spent with him.

It’s been 6 months now and I’m not sure what holds me still. Maybe it was the way he saw me. I think that’s the kind of thing that holds anyone so long after the fact. Maybe it was that I had never felt as beautiful as when I would catch him looking at me. Or maybe on the other hand, it was that I knew he would never make an honest woman out of me. Maybe wanting him scared me more than not wanting him. Maybe I liked the pain, the ambivalence. Maybe I had always wished I were enough for him, enough for myself. Maybe I loved the romance of an almost love. Maybe I was afraid of the ocean too. Maybe it was all of those things.

Sometimes when I’m alone, I drive up the coast, roll down the window and let the wind guide my arm like rolling hills, like he used to. Just to feel it again; the sense of home I found in him that I’d never be able to return to. I look at the steady sway of my arm, the only constant I have left. I let the warm breeze flow through my hair and skim my face, breathe in what once was and let it linger, just for a moment. I hear the sounds of life again, ocean, gravel, birds- verse, verse, chorus. It’s almost as if he’s in the seat beside me.

-S

*flash fiction piece for my creative writing class*

Silence & Repose

I ran out with no direction. With no sense of North I ran. I ran fast and hard, my tread broke the soil beneath my feet. I ran with every intention of hearing a hallelujah in this drought. A resounding hallelujah and a breath was all I needed.

Inhale, inhale, nothing in me to exhale.

But there was no hallelujah. And there was no exhale. I crumbled to my knees, panting. I cursed—dry and cruel words looking for release as they scraped my tongue, as they searched for their maker. Yet, my ears rang silent in response & repose.

Inhale.

 Inhale.

All I needed was something to tell me to hold on. To stop running. To run back. To run home. Wherever home was. So I looked up and I waited. Waited for my hallelujah.

It’s been so long since I’ve heard His voice, since I’ve acknowledged His presence. I haven’t heard His voice for so long now, I’m not sure I would even recognize it anymore. I haven't heard His voice because mine became louder. My thoughts and the thoughts of those around me drowned Him out. My worth was found in a man's touch; a gentle, deceitful touch that always left a scar. My worth was found in the approval of those who made me feel small and all too unimportant. My worth was found in the lie that anyone could love me more than the One who crafted me in His image, in His likeness.

I wouldn’t recognize His voice even if He shouted in my ear.

A drop of water slid down my cheek, this one wasn’t my own. Another drop. Now two. Three.

And just like that it began to pour and I smiled.

Exhale. Finally, a sweeping exhale and a laugh.

Hallelujah.

-S