Wading in the Velvet Sea

But, as is obvious by the continual sunrises and sunsets, the world went on, not only for yours truly but everyone else as well. It’s one thing to intellectually know that what you’re going through is transitory, and it’s quite another to endure the emotional ups and downs as your search for calmer waters. It’s one thing to know that many other people have gone through what you’ve gone through, and another to know that your specific experience, like theirs, is individual enough to make any anecdote, any bit of advise, any words of wisdom seem inapplicable. Doesn’t mean you don’t listen to what they say, doesn’t mean that you don’t appreciate their help, it just means that at a certain point their words fall a bit short. Maybe six inches, but short nonetheless, falling to the fall in an imaginary pile at your feet.

So, in order to tidy things up a bit in the ol’ noggin’, I’m gonna yank out an old trope I used to collect my thoughts over the past year. In the past, I’ve used a variety of quotes by artists such as Radiohead, The White Stripes, Bob Dylan, and Coldplay to provide a bit of framework to the topics at hand. Inevitably, these topics were intensely personal, as music to me is the most personal of expressions, when done right. When it’s done incorrectly, well, you get crap like “A Moment Like This”. But don’t worry, no barrage of Kelly Clarkson quotes coming your way, promise.

This time round, I’m going to use quotes from a newly-acquired CD, “The Man Who” by Travis, released originally in 1999. Travis were poised to be the “more accessible Radiohead” before they started to suck and Coldplay inherited the mantle. Back before iTunes, I had most of this album on my computer by, um, less than entirely legal means (ie, before Lars Ulrich got his panties in a twist). Well, Lars made a pact with God, and lo, God sent a lightening bolt 18 months ago to short-circuit my old computer. Bye bye, MP3s. Luckily, I’ve finally acquired a CD of this lost classic, after one of those “oh my God, I used to love this record, how had I forgotten about it” moments when the band came up in discussion with a friend.

And some music is like riding a bicycle: there’s an emotional memory that kicks in almost instantaneously when you rediscover an old song or album. You’re reminded why you fell in love with it in the first place. You’re surprised and delighted by little things you had forgotten. But most importantly, you notice a lot you didn’t the first time around. Not necessarily because the music’s changed, but because you have.

As per usual when writing these little ditties, I scrolled through the lyrics, copied those I found interesting, and will now try and figure out what made them catch my eye. I knew I wanted to write about the last quote roughly a week ago, but as for the rest, well, these are new additions. Let’ s see what happens.

Because my inside is outside
My right side's on the left side
Cause I'm writing to reach you now but
I might never reach you
Only want to teach you
About you
But that's not you
Writing to Reach You

For the most part, the proliferation of my writing is a direct result of the vacuum created in the absence of Jenny last March. Just a fact. I had a heckuva lot more time suddenly free, and I sure had a whole lot more to actually write about, and so “1,000 words a week” hit “10,000 words a week” fairly quickly. I was writing a lot about the difficulty of relationships, the ends of relationships, and about picking up the pieces. Readers responded empathetically, creativity was at an all-time high, and as such, in some way shape or form, my writing filled the negative space created in the wake of our relationship ending.

That basically continued until the Fall, where the writing was informed not my absence so much as a new presence. One not physically in my life but definitely part of it. And as hard as I tried to not overly talk badly about Jenny, I worked even harder to not sing the praises of Miss New Girl. And by the time I was editing down the “Velvet Sea” book, the “story” clearly to me concerned the journey from the end of my time with Jenny to the impending beginning with this new person. (Actually, the Dylan article is basically that same arc, only much more succinct.)

Problem was, by the time I was editing those last months of 2003, this new person was already gone. Concurrently, Jenny started reading my blog again, even though we hadn’t spoken in eight months. Don’t know why, don’t care much why. But in the gaping hole left by this double desertion, I made the blog my primary form of communication about them. Not necessarily TO them, but about them. I wasn’t so much interested in determining their motivations. Didn’t much feel like smearing them with my pixilated prose. Just wanted, more than anything, a forum through which I could work through things in a messy, imperfect, wholly subjective manner. Sure, interpersonal discussions helped this process along, but there’s only so many musings, interpretations, and “what ifs?” that any of my friends could stand without legally having the choice to douse me in gasoline and light me on fire.

Inevitably, of course, things that I wish I could have said to them came out through that writing. Just part of the process, I guess. Would be the same if I had gotten drunk one night and yelled at my pillow as if it were Miss X. Only in this case my rantings and ravings are archived, cached, and Google-able. I’ve tried as much as possible to focus on my self, because hell, I’m selfish that way, but I’m sure I’ve run them through the muck, against my wishes and against my efforts.

I haven’t talked to Jenny in over a year. I don’t think either of us have much to say to each other. Very little animosity on my part to explain this, and I’d like to think that the feeling’s mutual. Some things just happen that way. I stopped writing to her a long time ago. I still talk about her, because she’s a vital part of who I am. Through the good and bad stuff, she’s informed the me that is, well, me. Not only is there no point in trying to forget that, but I don’t want to forget that. Too important to forget.

As for Miss X, well…in my hallway lies a framed poster I bought for her. Was supposed to give it to her when she came to visit. Her first visit to Boston. She never came. It’s still in the hallway, facing the wall. The end with Jenny took a nine-month slow burn. The end with Miss X took 40 minutes from the beginning of the end to the end itself. To call it sudden would be an understatement of all understatements. Unlike Jenny, she cut herself from me at that final moment and hasn’t even taken a peek back. A lot of the writing earlier in the year features entries written so loudly that she’d have no choice but to hear them some few hundred miles from myself. Writing that screams across the sudden chasm. Writing that spoke everything I couldn’t say to an unforgiving dial tone. Words I couldn’t communicate over a phone she’d no longer pick up.

Words that, in the end, wouldn’t have made a difference because, in the end, they usually don’t. We’re lucky to get our fairy-tale ending once in this world…some of us never get it at all. Mine’s still to come; it’s just not with her. And aside from the occasional entry about her, I’ve stopped writing to her as well.

In my more callow moments, I’m sure I constructed sentences, paragraphs, and occasionally entire entries in which I would, like Travis says, “only want to teach you/About you…” I’d jump on my high horse and try to hold up a mirror for them. Pretty stupid, really. On my bad days I’d blame them for everything, on my worse days I’d blame myself for everything, and somewhere in between those two extremes lies the real truth. Not sure where, exactly, but a mixture of both combined with a healthy amount of “sometimes it’s not supposed to be”. I’d like to think that’s a pretty universal reason for things not working out.

But in the end, they are gone, they are not coming back, and it’s high time to stop writing to them. I can’t promise I won’t ever do it, but I’ll promise to try, for what it’s worth.

All I wanted was the chance to say
I would like to see you in the morning
Rolling over just to have you there
Would make it easy for a little bit longer
The Fear

None of us should be too terribly surprised when things don’t work out between any two people: I mean, 95%+ of relationships end in failure, yes? I’m personally holding down a 100% success rate for failure on my end. And yet so many of us act completely shocked when something doesn’t work out.

I guess in some ways the shock is a good thing: it means we had positive thoughts about the relationship. Positivity’s key, no doubt, no diggity. Having a fatalistic attitude is not something I am advocating by any means here. But I also think we need to deal a little more realistically with the end of things. But before we can be equipped to deal with the end, we have to be better equipped to deal with the here and now of relationships.

I know this particular quote above popped out at me since I’d like to think I’ve turned a corner in my own life. See, part of the utter elation of Miss X lie in the fact that I convinced myself that my life would be infinitely better because of the presence of this one person. And I was so ill-equipped to deal with a “me” that didn’t exist without her that when suddenly presented with that reality in January, I completely cracked.

I had fallen into that trap that I’ve internally chided many others for: namely, I’d defined myself in relation to another person. My existence depended upon and was validated by this other person. I felt more complete, more worthy, more just everything because of her. Now, a lot of people might argue that this is the entire point of finding someone to love; you’re supposed to find that person who makes you feel like no other, that person who lifts you up to greater heights than you thought possible.

But where others see perfection I see codependence: we’re not supposed to find someone to love to make us feel better about ourselves. I’d argue wanting someone to love you just so you won’t feel so bad about yourself is a recipe for disaster. It’s in fact antithetical to the nature of love to have it be about you. The last thing it’s supposed to be about, really, is yourself. It’s about that person you love. Love is supposed to selfless, yet it’s really hard for most of us to ever get to that stage.

We’re all inherently selfish creatures, after all, and in no way do I ever pretend to hold myself above such commonality. I’m right there in the muck of it all. And I guess at this point, on this Sunday evening in this June of this year, I am, for the first time, not looking next to me in the morning for someone to ease the pain, even temporarily. I don’t embrace the chasms in my life, but I’ve certainly made peace with them, and no for as long as they exist, I should be here on my own. And really, it’s always been a pretty good place to be, even if I wouldn’t ever let me see it in those terms. I mourned over Miss X, I went on blind dates, I’d flirt for attention, I’d drink myself into the occasional stupor, I’d run with thoughts in my head pushing my every step along the way to look trimmer, look stronger, look better, be more attractive…and well, all that did was leave me here with a bum knee and hey, guess what, still with an empty bed.

I used to really hate Miss X for taking away the self I had become in her glow, but that’s completely unfair, since it’s nobody but myself that created that "new and improved" self in the first place. To think I was suddenly less than I was haunted me; that one might be less once alone haunts many I know who are currently in relationships. That's the fear Travis is talking about, I think. There’s no real cure, per say, but conscious knowledge of the trend can’t really hurt, either.

I haven’t given up on relationships, either for myself or others. Believe me, I’m far too much of a romantic to ever do that. But I don’t take them for granted, either. I don’t take for granted that being in one will make me happy, and I don’t take it for granted that those currently in relationships are actually happier than I am. I used to think both of those things were unequivocally true. And now…well, not so sure. But for now, I go out for drinks with coworkers, or my married friends, and I come home alone.

With a smile on my face. And that’s a first, lately. And I’ll take more firsts like this as the year progresses, trust me.

More Travis quotes later in the week…that's enough for now, methinks.