We find ourselves in different worlds now.
It is possible to be in the presence of someone and still feel alone. Or have your mind drift to someone, something, new in your life and think nothing of the person adjacent to you.
Nine years and nine and a half months later, I find myself in a weird space. I’m falling in love with something, maybe falling out of love with another. And maybe it isn’t that I’m falling out of love so much, so let me rephrase. I’m assuming my focus has simply shifted, my priorities lie elsewhere and I’m measuring this newfound love in correlation to what I’ve known love to be.
It was always the two of us, suppressing our innate passions to feed into the fervor of one another. But as the years went by, we grew comfortable with one another and yet, uncomfortable with ourselves for not meeting our own personal goals. We did what a lot of twenty-somethings, but most, thirty-something’s do – have children and build a family – but didn’t do what a lot of people our age accomplish and that’s actualize our dreams. I think the older our kids got and the more we stood firm in raising our children to be what they want to be, not what we want them to be, we started to ask ourselves, are we doing what we want to do?
I’ll be honest and admit, I had those moments of “putting my life on hold for a bit when I had children” and focusing on just my family, catering to the kids and their needs and meeting the upspoken demands of my partner. But something happens when you echo those words to the little person staring back at you, that looks just like you, to do what you love. And when it’s late at night and you’re fighting the urge to pick up a pen but can’t because you have to get up early in the morning and be someone’s mom, followed by someone’s employee, again, you ask yourself, well? Are you doing it? Is someone stopping you or are you stopping yourself?
Because I can’t count how many times I had to repress my hands from letting out the thoughts that wanted to drown me, the words that wouldn’t come out the right way from my mouth, knowing that if I fell into that desire, I’d lose myself – in the words, in my journal, on my iPad, on a Word document. And I couldn’t lose focus even though that’s all I wanted to focus on when I had a family to provide for, and look after, and tend to.
But when it’s quiet, I started to hear myself say do what you love to my children. And they weren’t home. I started to see my face when I said it to them, but I was looking at myself. So I gave in.
And we’re here.
Feet away from one another. He into his music, his first love, I into my writing, mine. We’re here, “but we’re not here.” And when I’m stuck on a sentence, I’ll glance up and look at him and my God, he looks so happy. He concocts and composes and blends music so effortlessly and so I wonder, why does our relationship require so much work? The sounds from his speakers helps me write, helps me think sometimes. Why can I connect more with the creation than the creator?
He told me, he wishes I would look at him the way I do a clean page to write or type on.
Your eyes light up. You get this fire in you.
And in my moment of honesty with the world and myself, I tell him without telling him that I can’t look at him in the same way – at least not right now. The more I fall in love with writing, the more I fall in love with me. There’s a vulnerable side the journal sees that I can’t show anyone else. It’s weird, but “there is no excellent beauty, that hath not some strangeness in the proportion”, no?
We reached this point.
Where we can’t go back to before. We have to continue to feed the gifts that feed our soul because if we don’t, we’ll be haunted by the very words we say to our children. There’s nothing like having the sound of your own voice prey upon you. You’ll go crazy. And nine years and nine and half months later, doing what we love is the only thing keeping us sane, even if we’ve started to grow apart.