confession: i happy cried on the inside yesterday at the nashville airport when the tsa lady called me “hon.” i “darlin’” everybody but i hadn’t realized that i no longer hear extended-to-everyone endearments from other people i’m interacting with until that precious woman with a beeping wand waved me through the body scanner and called me “hon.” new life goal—reside where people call each other “hon” and “sweetie” and “darlin’” during mundane exchanges. (austin used to be like that. austin is where i learned it, but i don’t hear it in austin anymore. sometimes though i hear it in the midwest and the south keeps calling me deeper into it.)
confession: when composing a goodbye letter, i recommend leaving out phrases in enlarged font. enlarged font equals yelling louder than all caps. quiet goodbyes are more loving than yelling ones. if your goodbye intent is more fuck-you than loving, i recommend an even smaller font because whispering is more powerful than yelling.
confession: he thought i’d be disappointed by his goodbye. instead i was relieved. the most common behavior i wish to extinguish in my relationships is projection. we all want to be seen, understood, loved. we can not see each other if we are relating from past woundedness, assigning our unprocessed feelings, or engaging in our defense mechanisms. the people i bring closest to me are the ones who own all aspects composing their wholeness. we don’t have to heal our brokenness to be whole. we need to hold all our broken pieces and know that wholeness flows with, among, and beyond those pieces.
confession: a few mornings ago i remembered that everything is a gift. i don’t know how long or why i forgot that fundamental operating principle in my life but my remembering is a homecoming.
confession: there was a beautiful girl at the dance hall with an old lady’s name who tried to be friendly and i tried, too, but my trying was weak because underneath her friendliness i felt her asking for something she doesn’t have words or self-awareness to request. i know that she’d be dissatisfied with my way of seeing, listening, and loving when she’s looking for something in others that she’ll have to find inside herself. i witnessed her interacting with her boyfriend-not-boyfriend who doesn’t want to commit and she knows he doesn’t but pretends to herself and with him that they will move forward together in life while he disappears for twenty minutes for another beer, a smoke, a hit, a flirt, a screw—who knows where he went.
confession: i wonder who i would think i am without my mother’s critical voice inside my head.
confession: i wonder who you would think you are if you stopped judging yourself for the big fuck-ups and the small ones.
confession: last week i gave myself a writing challenge to make happy poems. thus far, i’m failing with each day’s attempt. writing happy poems (that aren’t sappy) is harder than writing dark and twisty poems. constructing a narrative that journeys through happiness requires more vulnerability than detailing pain. pain is instantly recognizable. sometimes happiness sits quietly in the corner without drawing attention to itself.