What to do, what to do, when...

... my heart is torn in two?

All I Want

Dreams

When I became old enough to drive, I made it my mission to explore the world around me for treasures beyond my greatest imaginings: old postcards addressed to people I'd never known, recounting memories I'd never had; vintage suitcases, retro jewelry I could repurpose, old photographs, prayer candles, crystals and stones, old cameras, unappreciated artwork- you name it. There are few things that give me greater joy than rummaging through the vast mementos of others, taking them in and giving them new life. And I have found some INCREDIBLE treasures over the years; however, no discovery has been so important and so fortunate as this: a book.

There is an old bookstore in downtown Deland called The Muse, and it has an incredible collection of antique and rare books. There are three rooms, each sectioned off by genre, and there is much pleasure in running one's hands over the spines of each book as one traipses through the aisles. On a particular day around the age of 18, I found myself in the bookshop with no premeditated intention to buy anything; just to explore. When shopping for a book, I have one method: I open to a random page, and if in one page I am captivated, I take it home. I'd sampled many, none pleasing enough beyond a page, until finally, I found it: Dreams by Olive Schreiner. This book was written in 1932 by a woman so smart, so compassionate, well-traveled, and decades beyond her time.

Olive Schreiner traveled all over the world, and wrote moralistic stories that hauntingly personified experiences like Love, the Ideal, Joy, Sadness, etc., and spoke of the human condition. To this day, I have never found writing to parallel that which I find in this book, so simple, yet impossibly intricate. It is one of the most important possessions I have, and I treasure it greatly.

All of that said, Olive Schreiner was an atheist. This never had any bearing on my love for the book, nor her ideas, as she was quite obviously a humanistic and compassionate person. Her ideas resonated with me immensely. At this time in my life, young and searching, I was aligning myself with Christian friends in hopes of finding the essence of the Christian faith, which I'd been raised to believe was correct and good. I wanted to have the kind of faith the believers possessed, and I dedicated myself to studying the bible, abstaining from certain aspects of the lifestyle that felt most natural to me in an effort to be more appropriately Christian. Suddenly, the things in my world that made me most happy, most whole, were forbidden: my love of the earth was pagan, my love and acceptance of gay and lesbian friends was sinful, my desire for sex was inappropriate, and my love for this book written by an atheist was tainting my faith. A Christian friend, with whom I have long since parted ways, advised me to get rid of the book because it would instill in me atheistic ideas and keep me from moving forward in my Christian faith.

As I look back, almost ten years, to that time in my life, I see that the real sin was allowing the fearfulness of others to influence my thinking. The truth is: all the things about me that Christianity encouraged me to change are the things I love most about myself, things that make me most proud of who I am. I know that there are many people who will not agree with my point of view, but I'm not interested in hearing what you have to say. I am so grateful for the $9.50 I spent on this antique book that is more relevant to me every day, I am thankful for the friendships I pursued despite the cautioning of hateful, self-righteous people; I am confident that the calling in me to be compassionate, curious, questioning, and loving could never be destroyed, and I am beyond happy that this book, ten years later, still accompanies me in the dark hours of my life.

An excerpt:

"In a Far-Off World"

There is a world in one of the far-off stars, and things do not happen here as they happen there. In that world were a man and a woman; they had one work, and they walked together side-by-side on many days, and were friends- and that is the thing that happens now and then in this world also.

But there was something in that star-world that there is not here. There was a thick wood: where the trees grew closest, and the stems were interlocked, and the summer sun never shown, there stood a shrine. In the day all was quiet, but at night, when the stars shone or the moon glinted on the tree-tops, and all was quiet below, if one crept here quite alone and knelt on the steps of the stone altar, and uncovering one's breast, so wounded it that the blood fell down on the altar steps, then whatever he who knelt there wished for was granted him. And all this happens, as I said, because it is a far-off world, and things often happen there as they do not happen here.

Now, the man and woman walked together; and the woman wished well to the man. One night when the moon was shining so that the leaves of all the trees glinted, and the waves of the sea were silvery, the woman walked alone to the forest. It was dark there; the moonlight fell only in little flecks on the dead leaves under her feet, and the branches were knotted tight overhead. Farther in it got darker, not even a fleck of moonlight shone. Then she came to the shrine; she knelt down before it and prayed; there came no answer. Then she uncovered her breast; with a sharp two-edged stone that lay there she wounded it. The drops dripped slowly down on to the stone and a voice cried, "What do you seek?"

She answered, "There is a man; I hold him nearer than anything. I would give him the best of all blessings."

The voice said, "What is it?"

The girl said, "I know not, but that which is most good for him I wish him to have."

The voice said, "Your prayer is answered; he shall have it."

Then she stood up. She covered her breast and held the garment tight upon it with her hand, and ran out of the forest, and the dead leaves fluttered under her feet. Out in the moonlight the soft air was blowing, and the sand glittered on the beach. She ran along the smooth shore, then suddenly she stood still. Out across the water there was something moving. She shaded her eyes and looked. It was a boat; it was sliding swiftly over the moonlit water out to sea. One stood upright in it; the face the moonlight did not show, but the figure she knew. It was passing swiftly; it seemed as if no one propelled it; the moonlight's shimmer did not let her see clearly, and the boat was far from shore, but it seemed almost as if there was another figure sitting in the stern. Faster and faster it glided over the water away, away. She ran along the shore; she came no nearer it. The garment she had held closed fluttered open; she stretched out her arms and the moonlight shone on her long loose hair.

Then a voice beside her whispered, "What is it?"

She cried, "With my blood I bought the best of all gifts for him. I have come to bring it him! He is going from me!"

The voice whispered softly, "Your prayer was answered. It has been given him."

She cried, "What is it?"

The voice answered, "It is that he might leave you."

The girl stood still.

Far out at sea the boat was lost to site beyond the moonlight sheen.

The voice spoke softly, "Art thou contented?"

She said, "I am contented."

At her feet the waves broke in long ripples softly on the shore.

What Lies Behind the Curtain

One of the hardest moments of your life is when you come face to face with the ugliness in your own soul. Perhaps even more painful than seeing the ugliness in others is when you see the ugliness in yourself. Perhaps because the big reveal showed that you weren't as forgiving as you wish you were. Perhaps because that moment showed you the depth of your ability to hate. Perhaps because you remember why you installed the curtain in the first place: because it not only concealed the ugliness of others; it concealed your own. It hid that part of you that you can't acknowledge because you hate it so much.

I am not a forgiving person. I trust too readily, and retreat to silence and shut people out when that trust is broken. It can never be repaired. I will never trust that person again. No amount of logical reasoning can change it. My heart is hard from the pain of being taken advantage of in the past, and there is no compassion left; just a calcified, hard fossil of a heart that once loved people deeply.

I find myself in a very dark place and in a bad situation. I can't imagine how the next two weeks of my life will go by when I remain in the presence of someone I don't trust. I have searched my heart for compassion for his situation and find little. That compassion died the first time someone took advantage of my natural inclination to believe that all people are good. I no longer believe in the good in all people and that saddens me. I feel like a human in a world slowly making me robotic, piece by piece. Day by day, I become a little less human. I am sorry for the whole situation, but it doesn't change the hurt I feel, it doesn't erase the deep mistrust I carry, and it doesn't make the next two weeks bearable. I feel overcome with grief for the entire debacle. The truth is, some people are just awful human beings. And the hardest truth is, maybe so am I. I truly want everyone to win. I want everyone to succeed, to do well, and to be happy. So, going forward, I suppose all I can do is close the curtain, and cry behind it alone as I try to chip away the hardened muck from my own soul and hope that the clean, kind heart that was born in me is buried somewhere underneath it all.

Rooting and Uprooting

I write this with fewer than 30 days before my inevitable departure to a new life. I have only one box packed, an apartment in disarray, and feelings torn between sad longing and absolute joy. Each day brings new excitement about the days to come, and each moment not packing makes the eventual packing more epic.

I've had an ivy plant for about ten years, and sadly/finally, it has died. It has seen its life, filled with love and sunshine, but now, its roots are dry, its soil devoid of any more nutrients. After nearly a decade, I had to throw my plant into the brush, symbolizing the end of an era. When I bought that little ivy, I myself was a young, small newling, barely 18, setting down roots and boldly making a life. Now, I am uprooting, despite all the days and hours of happiness and love. It is time to throw myself into the unknown, into new lands and lay my roots in new soil.

I cleaned the pot. DEEP cleaned it. The stains of a decade of dirt are gone. IT IS ALL BRAND NEW.

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

 

Risks and Regrets

What I think about taking risks...

Take them. If you feel drawn to do something, do it. I have taken many risks in my life, some that have cost me dearly and some that have hurt me immeasurably. Some that have hurt others. But I've never regretted a risk more than the ones I didn't take.

I'm frustrated tonight looking back at all of the relationships and flings I've had over the years, feeling helpless that I couldn't make them work, yet feeling grateful that they didn't. Many of the men that I've dated or been involved with have proven immature in ways insurmountable: guys on the rebound, guys in a rut, guys with different geographic desires, guys afraid of commitment, guys too committed, guys who should be committed, and even a couple good guys that just weren't right for me. In all, the past several years have been extremely exhausting and educative. Do I regret any of these connections? None.

A friend of mine recently got out of a relationship and is uneasy about being single. I understand- once you know the comfort of someone's intimacy and love, it's hard to be without it. I took a risk in breaking things off with a man I really loved in order to grow- I was still a baby and needed to find out who I was and what I wanted for myself. And now that I know with total clarity who I am and what I want, it will be impossible for anyone willy nilly to play that role. I spent four years purposely not dating after that relationship, healing and concentrating on myself because I needed to be alright with only my own love, with only myself. Those years were crucial to my growth as a person, as a woman, and as a lover. I now know what I value in a partner, which has made me a better partner in turn. Did I regret the risk of being lonely? Not at all.

I took a risk in leaving my religious affiliation. I spent so many years being involved in a nondenominational church, and poured so much of my time and heart into an institution that doesn't value the ugly or raw parts of a person, that I had to separate from it in order to fully think on my own. To develop my own set of values and morals. To love people as they are, to celebrate people as they are, "ugliness" and all. I couldn't be the person I am without having left the church. Do I regret it? Never.

I took a risk in going back to school after years of stagnation in the working world. I was older than the majority of my peers, and often felt out of place. Some classes felt like a waste of time and money, some were extremely difficult, and all too often, I desperately and nearly threw in the towel. But I finally graduated and now have a very expensive piece of paper that screams "I finish what I start!". Do I regret going back to school? NO.

I took a risk in letting go of toxic but familiar friendships. So often, we find ourselves hanging around with the same people because we've grown to love them, even if they've shown that their presence means only death to the people we are and the dreams we carry. I learned that I have to surround myself with people who are positive and actively build themselves and others up. Do I regret cutting toxic bonds in order to become a better person? In no way.

I took a risk in moving to Orlando 5 years ago with no money and got a roommate I barely knew. I risked not being able to make ends meet. I risked so much, and have received so much. Do I regret moving to Orlando? I can't regret the place and people that became home.

When I was young and my family life was horrible, I promised myself that I'd move to Orlando, I'd have my own apartment in the heart of the city, and I'd be an actor. At 26, looking back at all these years of taking risks and being bold, I DON'T REGRET A DAMN THING. I am constantly becoming the person I desire to be, and I can proudly say that I am self-made. All of my successes and all of my obstacles can be attributed to my sense of daring and my ability to set and pursue lofty goals. I have achieved everything I've ever set out to do up to this point, which only leads me to conclude that all risk will bring a reward of its own. Sometimes the reward is simply in taking the risk. Whether the result is painful, pleasurable, or somewhere in between, all risk results in growth of character and opportunity. To that, my answer is always: YES.

Listen: Medicine by Daughter

Entropy claims everything in time. Appreciate now.

I'm leaving. Each conversation I have with loved ones here is punctuated by the knowledge that our time together here is finite. I will be gone in fewer than 6 months, in a new life, in a new state, with new loves and new dreams. I can describe these moments of realization as nothing more than bittersweet. Each time I visit Dandelion or Austin's, the thought occurs to me that this may be my last time stepping through these doors. How many more times will I walk in Leu Gardens? How many more times will I go to work at the studio? How many more hugs with my dad and sisters? How big will my nieces and nephew grow by the time I see them again? These are the bitter parts.

The sweetness exists in knowing that I'll find new cafes and new loved ones. Dare I say, I will even find love. I will have new jobs and I'll make new friends. I will learn new paths and find new gardens. I will be doing what I love in a city that loves what I do. Culture, art, and opportunity will be in my lap. These are the sweet parts.

I take the bitter and the sweet all in the same dish, hungry for it all. Each bite is delicious in its own right.

I'm so used to being overbooked and overloaded, overstimulated, so much so that invitations to events and time with friends became luxuries I could no longer afford. Now that school is done, a nuisance job is over, and my car was all but ripped from my hands, I am in a space with "free time". Time that I can freely say I'd like to spend with loved ones while I'm here. I was invited to spend a day with my old neighbors, a family that has grown and nurtured me over the years when my own was absent. The boy next door, Sean Paul, is coming home one last time with his fiance before they move to Germany, so I'm eager to meet her and to say goodbye.

I guess I can describe what I'm feeling as a fierce anxiousness to appreciate everything with a feeling of finality. I know that life won't stop here when I leave, but it will never be the same when I return to visit. Let me remember you all as you are. Nieces and nephew, stop growing so much; be small a while longer. Dad, stay young; I need you to be here forever. Sister, go be a doctor, but don't ever grow up; you're always a kid to me.

Love what and whom you have. That's all there is. There are no second helpings to this meal, and the leftovers never taste quite the same.