This year has been...something else. Time has become stuck in that weird limbo where it speeds up, slows down, and stretches out like an overworked rubber band. I've felt like its been the week between Christmas and New Year's for the last twelve months - when you can't figure out if you should relax because the year is over or panic because you need to plan for new things. Motivation and action are simultaneously in the honeymoon and just-divorced phases. The entire year has been both overwhelming and endless staring into the void. Running at full speed straight on and floating along with no particular course in mind. The last 365 days have been terrible and terribly wonderful.
I've attached some guilt to my personal life this year. When the world has been on fire with death and instability, my life has been lit up by growth and ignited by so many different passions and relationships. That's not to say it's been without it's challenges (hello, loneliness, you fickle friend), but I've discovered nothing is flawless or flawlessly beautiful and my year has been beautiful, flaws and all. It almost seems unfair that I got to live my life with literature and macarons and late nights dancing and bad kisses and hilariously quick shags and shared glasses of wine and Aperol Spritzes and Paris Mules while so many lost their jobs, their relationships, their loves, their lives. Personally, 2020 has been the best year of my life (which I feel is saying a lot because I've had a lot of good years); it's been the worst for too many across the globe and in my own country. And the overarching questions I haven't asked myself enough this year are: Can I hold space for all the good in my life and all the bad in this time and space? Should I have to? What would be accomplished by allowing both boxes or one over the other to take up room? Is there an equitable share of dedicated energy to both myself and the outer world? After the last decade when I realized I must do the best for myself so I can do the best for others, I've learned I am absolutely allowed to let myself have the larger box, take a bigger share, use more space. Coming across my notebook from last year's Yoga Teacher Training, I found a quote from one of my teachers: "Disengagement does not mean discompassion." So while I allow myself to be the main character in my own story, I won't neglect my duties as a citizen and inhabitant of this planet. I'll lend my voice to the cries for racial justice, give what little money I have to those who have even less than I do, and promote the good I come across. Little doings are still little happenings.
So what has filled the box of my personal life this year? Mainly spheres of relationships - being in relation to and with men, with women, with myself. And even now, still fresh and new at the end of these beginnings, I can see they're all intrinsically linked. Not just because I share what's going on in one realm with another, but because one realm has had consequences in another. How I gage other's reactions, having the mindfulness to gage my own reaction to what I share, has had a profound impact on my behavior, my presence of mind, and my empathy. It would take far too long to separate the network of negative and positive interactions; suffice to say, it's amazing to observe them all.
Men have never been a priority and my interactions with them have always been limited - both platonically and romantically (which I now just characterize as sexual intimacy). Being around men was never a motivation to do anything. And then along came Marrakech, whom I had endeared myself to being both sick and drunk. He was the first guy who seemed into me that I was attracted to (my own life story is chapter after chapter of unrequited love) and called me beautiful before he called me any of its derivatives that make me laugh because I have no interest in being sexy or hot or a smoke-show. I dreamt about him shortly after my trip to Morocco and told him about it. His response was that we connected so well the one night we were together, there was no escaping it, even in my subconsciousness. He was the first to make me feel wanted. Later, in Seattle, there came a whole string of guys whose actual names I forget: the cop who just needed therapy and found it in my lips, the two guys that asked me out after long conversations and then never responded, the cashier who patted me on the head, the guy who was the exact replica of my brother, Spectrum Guy, the PE teacher with roommates, NewNick (to differentiate him from NickNick) who would not stop reaching out after I wished him good luck. The German teacher who messaged me last week because he was back in town and wanted to get into my pants. Dick Pic Guy, also known as Religious Boy, who's nickname morphed into a combination of the two - the Senator - and whom I was attracted to partly because he pissed me off and was the only one to provoke any sort of feeling. Boring Guy. He's the one Melissa yelled, "I'm bored. I'm bored. I AM BORED!" about when I told her I liked having sex with him but was ultimately unsatisfied. He made me feel safe and comfortable, constantly checked in on me, and treated me with patience and respect, but ultimately, he was just so... boring. He wanted to girlfriend me when I didn't want a relationship, and certainly didn't want a relationship with him. He didn't think I was funny and thought me stupid because obviously guys have been hitting on me since before this year and I just didn't notice. He tried to mansplain my experience, and therefore negated what had happened to me. Who would want to be in a relationship with that?
And then there was the Brit. Nearly three months have gone by since him and I can't seem to understand why I'm still grasping at smoke. We had the first date everyone wishes for: chemistry and capability. Ease. The passage of time was irrelevant because nothing existed outside the two of us and the stories we shared. And God, he was an amazing storyteller. And his kiss lit me up, igniting a fire I didn't even think could be sparked after several unsuccessful dates. I wasn't looking for a relationship, despite what I told every guy I went on a date with, but then I found him. He who told me I had beautiful eyes, he who drove into the city just to see me two days later for a walk along the bay, who laughed at my jokes, who ran his fingers through my hair when his lips were on mine. I'm so bitter and grateful I didn't follow him into my bedroom when he wandered around my unpacked apartment. He would've ruined all other men for me. As it turns out, he already had. He's become the barometer I measure them all against and not one of them has possessed a single trait the Brit exhibited on our two dates: humor, intelligence, eloquence, passion, being absolutely electrifying to every one of my senses. The abruptness with which that relationship ended caught me so devastatingly unaware and I'm not sure how long it'll take me to recover. Again, time (and timing, that little fucker), while an intangible construct, had and has become both immovable and fluid.
From these connections with men that were forged in the pursuit of pleasure, I'm also reminded of the three men that have made platonic and non-romantic appearances the last year. The toxic father I cut out of my life five years ago reached out to me at the start of November and my initial reaction wasn't hostility or an affront that he didn't adhere to my request. We've exchanged just a couple emails - mine a bit shorter than his and I address him by his given name: while I'm not angry or resentful, I have no real relationship with him yet and what it would be would not be that of a kid and her dad. That's a relationship that just won't ever exist and I'm resolved in my acceptance of that certainty. But the communication is something new and something I never would've seen happening. I'm not sure how I'm feeling about the whole situation, but I'm going to take not feeling negative as a huge positive.
My brother has become a man - the best one I know. I've always known he was so much wiser than me, but this year proved how truly indispensable to my well-being he has become. In the darkest day of this year, when I was crying about being unloved and lost and alone, Corey spoke truth - his truth - to me and made me realize my faith is better placed in those you know will show up when you call at midnight in the midst of an identity breakdown. He encouraged deep self-examination and to run through the reel of my life to understand the answer to the question, "How did I get here?" He showed me that identity is not the same as an ideal and that I'm loyal to my own detriment. He's also the type of guy to take on the responsibility of the older sibling when she's trying to await bad news. Corey is a man you can be proud of and this is the year he became the best big brother the oldest child could ask for.
In February, there was Nick (NickNick to distinguish him from NewNick, Abs Guy in the grand pantheon of nicknames). Hopscotching the lines of platonic relationship and sexual romance in my mind, Nick is attractive (hence, "Abs Guy") and very easy to fall in love with. But more than that, he's someone, regardless of his body parts, I want to be and more than any other man this year - the ones I've slept with, the one I've talked to since he lent me his jacket, the one that listened to me cry on the phone, the one that tried again, Nick has had the most profound impact on me. And I feel a complete debt of gratitude to him for helping me find myself in every moment.
My sphere of women has grown and become incredibly vibrant this year. Despite being so far from the ones I'm so close to, the marathon conversations and discoveries with the incredible women in my life - the women I love and admire and respect - has made the fibers of these deeply woven and intricate friendships steel strong. So much so that I couldn't possibly try (or want to try) to extricate myself from those bonds. I'm constantly reminded of these powerful and absolutely lovely women when I'm being present. When I'm out hiking (which is a lot as I'm now a resident of the Pacific Northwest), I think of my Aunt Victoria, who's hiked many many many miles of the Appalachian Trial and how much I admire her tenacity and elegant intelligence. Food is both passion and purpose to me and I always want to share my creations with Joli who is just as into food as I am and the best cheerleader on the planet. When anyone asks a question, I imagine Melissa asking several follow-up questions because she loves getting to the root of everything and I'm reminded to always be curious. Every time I check my mail, I get excited at the prospect of getting an envelope with my name in beautiful calligraphy from Roomie, my oldest and dearest friend, whom I've exchanged several letters with while living in Paris. A terrible instinct was put into check when I called my grandmother instead of my mom about something major and SanSan told me (in much nicer and more loving words) to quit being a little shit and start being a decent human. Jason, while not a woman, falls into this deep friendship category and I know that he's always on my side and can make me laugh.
My relationship with my mother has been the rockiest it's ever been this year. I've come to terms with some aspects of who she is. Literally - there's a term for the actions and behaviors she's exhibited and now that I have the vocabulary, I have access to resources on how to deal. I've flopped between accepting and rejecting her help, being both overly gratuitous with my thanks and horrendously ungrateful. I've virtue-signaled her white fragility and refused time with her to protect myself. But I've also come to understand that she, like me, has had to work at finding out who she truly is when a part of her identity has been erased. She's done so much that I'm incredibly proud of: raising two children practically by herself, throwing herself into her work, no matter what it was, finishing her bachelors degree. But this year, she's learned about herself and truly stepped away from those she believes give her life and I am so immensely proud of that. I saw how my own actions beget difficult consequences on her own journey - in ways I never would have imagined, and amongst so many other things, I appreciate my mother's ability to communicate these challenges as best she can and her decision to share those struggles with me.
Then there are the two lifers I met this year: Tayllor and Elaine. I've never met anyone and knew they were going to be in my life forever and miraculously, in 12 and 4 months, these two women have become superlatives in my life. The speed with which they have become a part of my dear little tribe is astonishing. I first met Tayllor in a Mexican restaurant in the 3rd and couldn't get over how tall and stunning she was. Then she opened her mouth and a self-assured, eloquent, intelligent young women fell out. We bonded over margaritas we didn't pay for, ice cream we searched for in five different places, our love of traveling, and living normal lives as Americans in Paris. She saved me during the French lockdown, encouraged me to get outside and lifted me up (off my feet more than once; she's freakishly strong). Even now, when we have stuttered conversations over Marco Polo, she offers friend advice, relationship advice, and always cracks me up. Elaine is my Maine sister - a hardy, won't-take-your-bullshit, fit and gorgeous red head that knew I wasn't going to stay in the position I was hired to before she even met me. She and I worked for the same company when I first moved to Seattle and our mutual love of yoga and all things New England (Bean Boots, snow, Pumpkinhead, Portland, the Patriots) has become a lovely little layer to the depths of our friendship. She knew who I was as a person right away and has become the person I share things with first. She's fiercely loyal and protective, incredibly good at thinking about plans, and says everything with deliberation and power. I have one friend in Seattle and I'm so thankful it's Elaine.
My own sphere... well. I'm changed. Not new - just grown. And growth is change. I wouldn't be who I am right now if I hadn't been that person crying at the airport last year, or the girl who turned to yoga after a bad run, or that child that did as she was told and believed everything she was taught. I've written about what leaving Christianity was like, but I'm still seeing the ripple effects of that decision across my life - they're good ripples that sway the boat of who I am. And laying in that boat, looking up at the sky, feeling the gentle movements of accountability, pleasure, and confidence, I've been able to recognize some truths about myself - both good and in need of some improvements:
- I will become what you think I am; I will believe you are telling the truth about me
- I accept what's presented, both in ideas and impression; I trust that you have the
best intentions and I'll give you the benefit of the doubt
- I pursue things for the experience, even if it's risking bad relationships, bad sex, bad
food
- That being said, complete and total satisfaction isn't the goal; pleasure and
enjoyment is
- We have to do the best we can with what we have
- I'm honest and able to be so kindly (whether I'm successful or not is another story)
- There are too many resources for me to be as aloof and glib as I am
- I am the most present I have ever been in my life
When I told Roomie about the Brit back in October, she said, "Roomie, your life is like a movie. You move to Paris to read and write and you spend the entire summer on the beach drinking. Then you move to a city you've never been before and you hike these incredibly beautiful mountains and you meet a perfect man with a perfect accent." And I remember standing in my kitchen - the first that belongs to me and no one else - listening to her with the biggest smile on my face. One that's a combination of being smitten with a beautiful British man and a flood of memories from the last ten months. As I'm writing this, I'm also taken back to a night in February. Tayllor and I were walking to the metro after celebrating our friend Morgan's birthday at a rooftop club and we were talking about how gorgeous the city was when there weren't people walking around. We both found that we don't know how to deal with those who were in awe of us living in Paris. For us, it was just life. We still went grocery shopping, walked to get stamps at La Poste, waited for the train, had our daily routines (her work, mine leisure), had social obligations. On another night, I headed back to my AirBnB after an evening on a sailboat in the Mediterranean and felt an overwhelming sense of joy that this - the traveling and swimming in Monacan territory, drinking Aperol Spritzes on the beach, spending time in museums, reading, writing - this was my life. In all its infinite forms, good and not so good, special and mundane, brilliance and boredom, this is my life. And I want to live it as though it is a movie - that every little moment is worthy of being caught on camera and is important to my story. I can edit later through my writing but right now, in this frame of a moment, through the lens of time and self-reflection, the soundtrack of my laughter and my tears and the voices of those I love, my life is all gloriously on celluloid. It's an incredible reel.
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