journal entry: november fourteenth

processing on a page: romance, safety, self discovery

I’ve felt myself running from the page lately, there have been times I run to it. I feel myself longing for love, desiring depth and closeness. I usually find myself in a new relationship every few years, but I suppose I have broken that trend. I think I must pride myself in my independence because even in my own journal it feels difficult to admit my desire for relationship. I’ve always thought I am likely someone who grows old in their little study researching and writing like mad. Too complex and expansive to ever be grasped by another human. Too misunderstood. This may still be true, but I am much less excited now by the idea of infinite solitude than I was previously.

I can feel what the right person feels like. I’m not sure if I’m naive for believing in a right person, but I’ve felt what the wrong people feel like, so I’m certain it’s counterpart must exist. It’s logical. Writing all of this admittance to true love makes me feel like a girl. I was never the kid to dream of a wedding or a partner. No, I had kids, no husband, and we lived on a farm which was somehow also on a beach. The few short lived girlfriends I had growing up taught me how I never wanted to seem: dependant, obsessive, emotionally reliant, and illogical.

When in relationships, even if I was smitten, you’d never catch me goo-goo-ga-ga’ing. I’ve yet to get to the root of my suppression of girliness, but I suspect it made me feel weak. Vulnerable.

I know this time of being single is precious and an opportunity many in other stages of life now fantasize about- to grow in friendship and intimacy with oneself. However, I feel such resistance to that. It feels uncomfortable because I haven’t been the greatest friend to myself the last few years. It’s like being in one of those relationships where you feel the tension of things unaddressed in which you both are aware. Yet, you smile and go through the motions because it’s less messy. It’s also less hard because reconciliation always causes change.

I know once I say sorry and I truly mean it I will have to show up for me, be the friend I need, I’ll have to start listening, I’ll have to be willing to let go of some things. Who will I become but who I am? Why is that so terrifying? Maybe because all beautiful things are. The mighty forces of nature that leave you in wonder, that make you feel small, that are so powerful and enchanting.. to be all of that yourself is terrifying.

It’s leaving yourself open and unguarded to both praise and unappreciation, open to the seekers and the neglectors, the fans and the critics. It’s much easier to be quiet, to make no wake. To be passed over is much safer than to endure praise and critique, pursuits and abandonments, attention, to me, however good or bad, feels unsafe.

But, I don’t want to live safe. I want to live open.