Life is confusing most of the time, and I guess that’s the point. That’s what makes some things make sense – the fact so many other things don’t. That I can cry myself to sleep one night and laugh til I cry the next night. That I can spend a week in a hermit- like state then go out til three a.m. that weekend. That my heart can be so sad for no apparent reason, but so full of joy for even having this moment I’m existing in right now.
None of it makes sense.
I tend to overanalyze everything. Well, I actually tend to make decisions without thinking about them and then have a whirlwind moment where suddenly I realize I haven’t thought anything through. But I’m trying to stop. To just do and not think so much. Because it’s never going to make sense. I’m never going to understand. Because that’s the point. Because maybe in some of these moments – when I’m trying to figure out a little bit of why I did something or why another thing happened – I can feel something. I can feel joy and pain and sadness and happiness and love and heartbreak. Because those feelings – those are the point, I think.
I went to LA. I fell in love.
Not with a person, of course. With this city. While dirty, grungy and a little rough around the edges in places, there is also an ethereal beauty. The air is filled with dreams – some achieved, some in the making and others breaking. It’s almost like I could feel it.
Some say it’s a city of followers – it’s a place where people come to be someone, and lose themselves in the process. I think that’s pretty normal in any place we go in life, though. We’re all mostly searching for who we really are in one way or another. People out here are just more obvious about it, I suppose.
I’m in a place where moving makes sense. Texas has more memories than I care to remember, and way too many people moving faster in life than I am. I feel like fewer people are searching, and most of them just settled with whatever seemed to make sense at the time. I don’t think I’m there. Perhaps the decision was already made for me, but settling isn’t even an option.
I feel like I belong somewhere that people are still trying – constantly striving for some sort of validation, acceptance or attention. Sometimes all of the above. I’m okay with admitting that I’m in a place where all of those things seem like what I need.
With all of that said, recently more than ever, I’ve been reminded of the importance of hope. Faith in the unseen. The belief that something better IS out there and someday it will make sense. I have hope tattooed on my back. I forget about it sometimes, but catch a glance of it here and there. And I am reminded that without hope, we all crumble.
Then I took this photo on a random street in LA. Notice the street name.
I don’t believe in coincidences. Time for plans.
I walked into the bar completely unsure of what to expect. I grabbed a drink. I felt out of place. I don’t have tattoos.
I asked for a song.
“Okay, but it’s going to sound different on the acoustic.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
He played. The songs were good, but none of them were mine.
It was time for the last song.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.”
He played my song.
The show ended up. I walked over while he was kissing his girlfriend.
“So, the backstory is I got dumped on Friday. I really needed to hear that song. Thank you.”
“He wasn’t worth it anyway.”
Truer words have never been spoken.
I’m learning just how powerful emotions can be.
They’re also very fluid – ever changing with each moment.
Amazing in the worst kind of way.
So, I can have a mostly great day. Full of laughs and great friends. And then I can cry when I’m in my car driving home, for no reason at all really, except this crippling feeling that nothing makes sense and nothing is the same and I still don’t know how to process anything.
Or I can go out. And have full confidence that everything will be okay. I can talk to a cute boy, and maybe even give him my number. And then lose my breath because this hole in the bottom of my stomach took it from me. And I’m not sure why my stomach holds all of my emotions, but it feels like they’re all in there, churning around and making me unsure about anything.
And that hole is constantly stealing my breath. Constricting me physically to remind me how much is changing emotionally. And I just want to breathe again.
Though the day has ended for most, I’m still awake after an early evening nap of sorts. I can’t help but think of one of my favorite songs, “Fourth of July” by Stephen Kellogg.
You can see it here. http://youtu.be/wo_fj_lDO20
It makes me think of many things: life, troubles, self confidence, pain, endurance, heartbreak and the inevitable joy of overcoming those hardships.
It also makes me think of my best friend. Former best friend, I suppose. Not by choice. We were supposed to move to Boston. I moved home instead. She used to respond to texts, and then just stopped one day.
We were both ready to move when we decided to go. It was an escape plan – a way to run away. Then it fell through. We moved on. I’m happy, though nothing is how I planned it. I was in a bad place, mentally, back then. I didn’t think anyone cared about me nor cared if I left. I certainly didn’t care about staying. We bonded over that all-consuming need to leave, and the idea that no one cared if we did.
And then she left.
When best friends stop being best friends, it’s worse than an actual breakup. The thing about best friends is they know everything – the things you keep to yourself when dating, at least for awhile. They know all of it.
It’s been a few years now, and I still have a hard time letting it go. The fact that the person I befriended over our common need to find someone who cared, decided she didn’t.
But that’s life I guess. And mine is good. Some days, breathtakingly good. Today was one of those days, actually. But I still miss my friend.