[I didn't mean to disappear. I love writing here, having done it for so long, knowing I can look back and see how far I've come. It's the last day of 2011, and while I don't normally fall prey to such conventions, I know I wouldn't forgive myself if I let this year end without some summation of what's happened.]
This has probably been one of the hardest years of my life, which coincided with the experience of growing the fuck up. It's been swell, young adulthood, it's been great. I had some amazing times with good friends. Some of them are gone, finding themselves in other parts of the world, some of them I've outgrown and some of them I've rediscovered again.
For me, it has been the year of being missing, everyone is saying, where are you? where have you been? where have you gotten back from? All the while I've been working and traveling and trying very hard to make sense of what is happening to me, like if I just pay close enough attention to every single thing maybe it will all make sense somehow and get better, but then there are so many things.
So many factors go into a disappearing act. It's not just one thing. They are all here, transcribed already. Money, family, love, sobering up, finding out that who I am is nothing without love.
And then there's this:
My family has never been close. It's just understood that the love is there and that's that. We don't talk, we don't see each other much except for holidays and we look forward to seeing my brother who has three cheerful wild children. We started to talk more, I won't get into the painful teary why, when you talk to someone who loves you and really wants to talk to you and they are kids it is a big gushy good feeling.
I wrote a story this year. One story. It is part of my novel, the seemingly never-ending source of mockery of my own making. It was an embarrassing story, difficult to write, hard to get out, a cringing unwelcome peeling of something unpleasant over and over again trying to find a way to make something of the effort of trying to figure out the magnet. Sometimes I am asked to explain why I write. This story made me realize that it is less about wanting to and more about needing to, because there was never a story I wanted to write less than that one.
Maybe because it turned out it was time to write some of Peter's story and remember what a presence he was. We miss him. Things haven't been the same since he left. His presence comes to me in strange visions, the sort of thing I've never experienced, I feel a little terrified of them, but grateful all the same because it never feels like the message or whatever I interpret the message to be is a bad one. He appeared to me in a dream, smiling, happy to see me, even though seeing him made me realize I had died and gone to heaven.
As some of my friends have disappeared, either to moves, marriages, or school; I find I am lonesome. I miss Siena, talking to people, discussing things, elaborating on things, remarking on things and there is no one I can do that with anymore. It makes me disappointed and dismayed. Recently, I saw some old friends and I realize I never want to see them again. She doesn't forgive me for saying she wears grandma sweaters (she does) and he can't see me without seeing the burnham. So even though there is time and love and there was some joy, it doesn't mean anything anymore. I can't keep spending time trying to line up and sort out the details of my past. Because somehow, without my realizing it, I have a future.
Being me, and living day to day, surviving, trying to see where I went wrong back there to avoid getting in the same spot again is why I had no future. You can't look forward if you're always looking back. Except the future isn't much clearer, an even murkier pond with a few spots of reflection and no clear view.
This year the moon reached out and grabbed me. He took my hand and helped me out of the darkness. He made the world seem small and simple. He holds a future for me, except to have it, I have to make a difficult decision, but for me it is not difficult. He is what I've been waiting for. So I will bide my time and wait, but I already know I am going to pack up and move one more time. It will be the best move of my life, it will be the best year of my life. I am ready for what will come and excited to share life with him.
I am glad for this year of struggle and sadness and fear. I learned that I can do anything as long as I take care of myself and am true to my own morals and ideals. I am also glad for it to be over.
“If you are depressed you are living in the past.
If you are anxious you are living in the future.
If you are at peace you are living in the present. ” Lao Tzu, Daoist philosopher
