What do you do when you’re in a relationship and then someone else comes along and completely changes your life and you can’t stop thinking about them?
Let me be upfront—this is one of the exact reasons why so many of my “serious” relationships have failed in the past. I find it tremendously difficult not to stray toward the next thing that causes me to catch my breath. There are so many people out there who have the ability to trigger the small part inside of me that feels stagnant, uncertain. It’s so simple for me to lean into the idea of: but wait, look at the other things I could be doing or seeing or trying or just fucking loving.
I’d be bullshitting too if I said I’m not experiencing a small degree of this right now. It’s tricky territory—the words you weave, the lines you tiptoe along, the lies you tell yourself to justify what you are (or aren’t) doing.
How are you supposed to explain any of it? Without trying, you stumble into the potential of something and then begin to get caught up in the fantastic ideas you can foster when someone carries a spark you forgot existed. Quietly, you build worlds between you—places where you coexist without repercussions, conversations which leave you studying the cartography of the future with a fervor you haven’t experienced before. You ignore the flaws, push aside reality. While daydreaming, you shift the blame to fate, to the inexplicable connection you felt threading you together despite your current entanglements. Does anyone really mean to sit a Kansas coffee shop listening to the most adventurous stories, or to allow a voice to keep you crawling inside it each night? Do we want buzzed circular drives to distract us, each diner coffee refill to propel us into temptation? Hardly. Never once have I sought out the opportunity to linger some place else when I’m with someone, and yet.
Yet while part of you feels the anxious knot twist tighter in your stomach with each blush evoking comment, each time you know you are wrong, the other part is begging to be utterly swept up in the very idea of something more, something better. How easily one can lead separate lives when you are weaving your way through boundaries and conversations without consideration for others. Somehow, the allure of someone else trumps any guilt you expected would persuade you in a different direction.
By this point, I know I dig my own graves. I stake full claim to my failings. I am always proclaiming them boldly instead of changing my ways—warning signs to those daring to get close. I’ve got sweet talk down to a science. Apologies have become an art form. I know I’m not the one who should be giving advice on this (or any matter) because I only know how to deal with things the messy way.
But, whoever you are, asking this means something. Hesitation means something.
Because it is easy to get dizzyingly drunk, steadying myself on train rides back to my apartment, and feel the romance of it all—the forbidden, the uncertain, the promise. But in the morning, when you wake up feeling hungover in the heaviness of your heart, the sliver of imperfect shines through. Sometimes it is easy to forget when someone’s nails aren’t digging into your back consistently. And when they do, you’ll be pulled back into the heart of the matter—that you are with the person you are with for a reason.
I think the best way to figure anything out is to throw yourself right in the middle of it. Don’t give yourself the option of skirting around the issue. Put yourself in emotional jeopardy. Up the stakes.
Ask yourself the tough questions. Figure out the answer to why.
Sometimes the people who make you rearrange everything are meant to be totally platonic. Sometimes they end up being much more than that. But it takes time. Please be patient. Realize you can be captivated by someone who shows you something new, but it doesn’t mean you are meant to sacrifice what is making you happy.
Most of all, it takes being really goddamn honest with yourself, with the person you are with, and the person you are swooning over. Otherwise, you’ll be bruising more hearts than you expect.
But like I said, I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing half the time.
burnt owl
On Sunday, I was featured by the Burnt Owl project, a collection of interviews and poetry by various writers. I encourage you all to not only read what I had to say (ha!) but also take the opportunity to learn something from other passionate people.
anonymous asked: Why do you say that vulnerable is beautiful?
A good pal of mine passed along a lecture once which involved this concept and it struck me right where I needed to feel a little spark of something.
Among many other points, it centered around the idea that human connection— that ability to understand someone else, to empathize, to love and find the small part to which you belong— is one of the most powerful stories we’ll be able to tell. Every single person has a desire to be a part of something, to grasp hold of the universal truth, to turn loneliness into simply being alone.
In my time posting my words on the internet, and in moderating No Shame November, I have noticed that perhaps the greatest form of connection is vulnerability. There’s something that awakens inside when you watch others display their thoughts and emotions, finding the courage to tell your story without hesitation, fully and with heart. There’s something about having the guts to be imperfect and messy, and the willingness to take all of those risks, to go towards something with no promises and no guarantees that it will work out.
Lately, I have been struggling with the idea of what I want to do versus what I should do. I am doubting too much and feeling a bit lost. It always seems I am on the cusp of things, looking over edge, waiting for a push or a gentle coax back to the right side. It is important that I remember that being unsure, challenging myself to accept that I have to expose myself to criticism and failure and loss and not having what I desire tangible, is sort of wonderful in its own right, not because it is feels good, but because everyone knows how that feels. And that, I think, is kinda goddamn beautiful.
