driftspace

I had to explain to someone -- who I am beginning to realize is one of those "kindred spirit" types that the hippies talk about -- why I avoided being in his band for over a year now. He totally understood, and the reason I didn't tell him before was because I was ashamed of it; it was just because I was afraid. I had similar conversations frequently with someone else very close to my heart, except I was on the other side of the conversation; she is afraid ... actually, we're both afraid right now, I think.

Fear is a really awful thing to latch onto, but it's hard not to keep it close when you've taken the fall so many times before after tossing it to the winds.

That's what I told this guy tonight: "I gave so much of myself -- all of myself -- to these other people and these other situations before, and yet I'm still here: alone, sapped of energy, angry, and resentful."

The last band I was in, which was one of the most important experiences of my life, cast me in my usual role as the assiduous interlocutor; I put myself on the line, and made an effort to point out every time I felt that someone was holding back or wasn't pulling their weight. People don't like that guy. They don't want to keep him around for very long, and I'm sure that things dissolved, at least in part, because of it. My friends have said "you're intense," and I never quite know what to think or do about it.

My friend did have something to say about it tonight: he told me he was having a conversation with a woman on the bus about "domestic partnerships," and that she kept steering the conversation back to the way he was dressed (i.e. the amount of bracelets he was wearing) or the weather outside. People seem to shy away from substance and self exploration -- that's why they go to church on Sunday, right? Someone will feed you the answers about you, where you fit in, and what the "right" things to do are ... but I digress ...

Is it my fault (am I a jerk?) for pointing it out, or is there a larger problem here? Do we blame the flies for swarming, or do we blame the person who left the pile of shit?

Anyway, I'm in this guy's band now -- I swallowed my stupid fear and said I'm in. Sure, it might take me a while to be all in like I really should be, but I've got to at least step inside. I've been hurt a lot by making this exact same move in the past, but it's the only direction to go that's worth anything; you can't become part of something greater than yourself unless you are willing to open up and give yourself to it. Once you've felt what it's like to be more than what you are -- to be a part of that performance which nobody will ever forget, or to hold that certain someone in your arms who you know you belong with -- you can't keep yourself bottled-up. I know what's on the other side of that barrier, and though it's been mostly loss and hurt up until now I know that it doesn't have to be, and that a bigger prize awaits me at the end of that road. Until this point everyone has just taken from me, but if I want to be a part of something greater than myself I have to be willing to give myself up to it again and again. It's scary as hell; even though I wade through the mire of everything I've lost on this road before, it's a direction I must continue in if I wish to climb any higher.

The truth is that I simply cannot go "all in" right now because I need time to put the pieces of what I lost before back together, but I also cannot ignore the glimmer of possibility smouldering before me; if I don't acknowledge it and tend to it at least a little it might go out and be lost. I have to try -- we have to try -- because if we don't the fire might go out. I'll give it everything I can in hopes that, as time goes on and I heal a little more, I will be able to give more of myself to it ... or until I have nothing left.

So to that other person close to my heart: the only reason we have ever feared that this was tenuous was only because that is our biggest fear; this is the last thing either of us want to lose, especially if it looks even a little like something we've both lost and have been hurt by before. Maybe we're both not ready to give ourselves to it completely because of complications, pain, or other obligations, but we've got to do something to keep this aflame. We have so few uncanny moments in our lifetimes -- much less with specific people -- that we owe it to ourselves and each other to take them as far as they will go, even if it means one small step at a time. I would rather fall on my face a thousand times more as long as I knew that I intended for something greater for myself and someone else.

I saw the blush on your face; I felt your skin prick-up as I held you close, and your breath quicken when I kissed your shoulder. As much as you try to hide it from me and everyone else, I heard my name echo through your heart. Even though we want otherwise we will both hurt each other again in the future, but if we distance ourselves because we see potential for the biggest hurt either of us could experience we will also distance ourselves from the other extreme; I would rather die than not have a chance at something like that. Why is it so much easier for us to flee from one potential when we have just as much (if not more) of an inclination to trust and run towards the other? All that pain and hardship don't mean anything because I can still see what lies ahead, and I'll endure a thousand times more if we can come a few steps closer.

"Where have you been?"
"Waiting for you."