Everything I Tell You is Hearsay

it is enough to know you are out there

i’m afraid i will lose my faith

i am going to miss you

sleeping to dream about you

love songs make me cry

i just cant stop

i’ve been wondering lately if the notion of a “best friend” endures into adulthood. if you’d asked me this question a year ago, i would have answered with a resounding,
“uh-huh!”
however, the person who filled that role in my life since i was about 17 and i haven’t even spoken in almost a year, and so now i am no longer sure.

the common wisdom tells us it becomes more difficult to make substantial social connections as we age. that intimacy becomes harder to establish, new friendships less likely to endure.

the way we forge connections changes radically as life goes on. our life circumstances, personalities, ethics, preferences, and degree of emotional competency take on distinct texture and permanence as we age. proximity is, then, no longer the defining characteristic of friendship. the accessibility of a playmate, once the cardinal trait of friendship, becomes largely irrelevant. our sensibilities evolve with our interests and we learn to make alliances based on hobbies, political leanings, fondness for drink, and countless other considerations.

and though these might seem to be a more sound and enduring basis upon which to form a lasting social connection, there are constraints presented by our maturity which can hamper the evolution of the emotional connection of the intensity and scope inherent to the “best friend” role. no longer can we hope to be as unaffected or vulnerable as when we were children. our actions are moderated and mitigated by our experience and politesse. the fear of revealing too much, or pressing upon the tolerance of another. we no longer possess the glorious insensitivity to the effect of our unbridled self upon others.

to my mind at least, it is in many ways the drama of our adolescence that makes the profound and enduring emotional and cognitive impressions upon us that allow us to feel as though we really, really know someone, deep down at their core. it is unusual to encounter a relationship, not romantic in nature, that can (or should) generate this same type of intensity once we are out of those tumultuous formative years. and perhaps if we don’t emerge from this time with a person who has run this gauntlet beside us, they cannot really know us; cannot appreciate our evolution and our constancy.

not to forget the logistical and practical constraints of adulthood. we don’t have time on our hands to devote to just being around to discover or communicate every damn thing.

and all of this being said, i have to admit, the conclusion i come to is that while it may be possible to have a best friend as an adult, it might not be possible to acquire one if you wrecked or lost the one you already had. and this makes me sad and lonesome and wistful. because that’s what seems to have happened. and there doesn’t seem to be anything i can do about it.

i’ve been wondering lately if the notion of a “best friend” endures into adulthood. if you’d asked me this question a year ago, i would have answered with a resounding,
“uh-huh!”
however, the person who filled that role in my life since i was about 17 and i haven’t even spoken in almost a year, and so now i am no longer sure.

the common wisdom tells us it becomes more difficult to make substantial social connections as we age. that intimacy becomes harder to establish, new friendships less likely to endure.

the way we forge connections changes radically as life goes on. our life circumstances, personalities, ethics, preferences, and degree of emotional competency take on distinct texture and permanence as we age. proximity is, then, no longer the defining characteristic of friendship. the accessibility of a playmate, once the cardinal trait of friendship, becomes largely irrelevant. our sensibilities evolve with our interests and we learn to make alliances based on hobbies, political leanings, fondness for drink, and countless other considerations.

and though these might seem to be a more sound and enduring basis upon which to form a lasting social connection, there are constraints presented by our maturity which can hamper the evolution of the emotional connection of the intensity and scope inherent to the “best friend” role. no longer can we hope to be as unaffected or vulnerable as when we were children. our actions are moderated and mitigated by our experience and politesse. the fear of revealing too much, or pressing upon the tolerance of another. we no longer possess the glorious insensitivity to the effect of our unbridled self upon others.

to my mind at least, it is in many ways the drama of our adolescence that makes the profound and enduring emotional and cognitive impressions upon us that allow us to feel as though we really, really know someone, deep down at their core. it is unusual to encounter a relationship, not romantic in nature, that can (or should) generate this same type of intensity once we are out of those tumultuous formative years. and perhaps if we don’t emerge from this time with a person who has run this gauntlet beside us, they cannot really know us; cannot appreciate our evolution and our constancy.

not to forget the logistical and practical constraints of adulthood. we don’t have time on our hands to devote to just being around to discover or communicate every damn thing.

and all of this being said, i have to admit, the conclusion i come to is that while it may be possible to have a best friend as an adult, it might not be possible to acquire one if you wrecked or lost the one you already had. and this makes me sad and lonesome and wistful. because that’s what seems to have happened. and there doesn’t seem to be anything i can do about it.

i woke up this morning in the same mood i’ve been in for days. it’s not a happy one. and yet, for some reason, as i walked past the lilac bush outside my front door, i plucked some blossoms and decided to breathe.

some time ago i was compelled to take a theology class. though it wasn’t necessarily a choice i would have made on my own, i found the class deeply rewarding. not least because of the reading material the sister required for the class. as pertinent to this; Peace is Every Step by Thich Nhat Hahn. and though this is a simple book in every sense, it has offered some of the most practical and useful advice about life i have encountered. yet as simple as it is, i have been truly amazed at how easy it is to forget these truths.

Like:

breathe
smile
be gentle
attend to the smallest and most immediate pleasures
stay present in the moment

and i have not done as much of any of this as i should lately. and for some reason, on this soft grey spring day, i am finding it a little easier than usual. i think i can thank the lilacs…

something that hundreds of thousands of other fine people know: what it is like to relocate to portland.

being one of an increasingly uncommon passel of folks who were actually spawned and reared in this place, means i am surrounded by a whole mad herd of people who came here on purpose. and i feel lucky. because i want to spend the rest of my life here. it’s like being in an arranged marriage where you actually happen to be madly in love with the partner someone else chose for you.

but i know i have missed out on some quintessential “uprooting an entire life” type experiences. and the bravery and faith required for such a leap is almost unfathomable to me. there have been no tarps secured over a pickup full of belongings. no dark nights of driving to a new town without a clear sense of how living there will feel. i have never had to get to know a new town. i have never had to discover the best route to anywhere, because i have always known it. i have never been presented with such a remarkable chance to create a tale about my life in surroundings unfamiliar to me.

and this seems like something i want to experience. but i cannot imagine bringing myself to go elsewhere just to feel it.

and it is always one of the first questions i ask: what made you choose this place? of all the places? what was it like to come here from wherever it was you came? what drew you here and what do you miss about where you’re from. and what was the most fundamental change you underwent to become a portlander at last?

i imagine it is a journey that changes a person. hilarity and loneliness must ensue. the magic of this place is not lost on me for a moment, but i will never know the magic of this place as a stranger must.

indeed things are off at a gallop. and as in the old chinese proverb, living in interesting times might be something of a curse.

i can point to nothing that feels settled. no thing of which i am totally certain. no course to which i am fully committed. all the while i am in this profound and numbing flux, i am also swept along by circumstance. my faith, what will that i possess, the shred of patience i have constructed by dint of long effort, my brittle and inconstant self-assurance; all these are under siege.

yet, oh, the shining possibilities if only i can endure. the alluring fiction draws me forward, by degrees. but there is no certainty that i am being lured toward something that serves me. if i should look to these intimations and conjectures with any sort of confidence.

and what, then, to think of this desire i have to remake myself, body and soul, to be better equipped for a future i am not certain i want? what, then, of the desire to abandon things by which i have defined my life for so long, in pursuit of a goal less lofty but oh-so-much-more-accessible-seeming?

confronted, as i have been of late, with new people, experiences, avenues, and possibilities i feel that all has come into question. but in some more fundamental way than the way in which i always try to keep an open mind. i feel my compass has been dipped in lead and cannot find true north. that the reflection of myself i have always relied upon is somehow altered in some nebulous but profound way that no longer supplies me with a complete and meaningful truth about who and how i am.

and this scares me.

today has been one of those days that can’t be objectively classified as bad, yet is still end up feeling unaccountably sad.

i mean, it wasn’t totally smooth sailing. i did have a hiccup about not having my schedule properly calibrated, but i think i got over that about 7.5 hours ago.

still, i’m sad. and when i look at babies i want to giggle and cry simultaneously. and i think ridiculous things about people who love me, and see disaster around every corner, and i know this means my ovaries are to blame, but despite this powerful awareness, i cannot make myself seem to feel any less utterly swept up in my mope.

and, of course, my physician is OUT OF THE COUNTRY and not due to return until after the month end. and we hadn’t managed to finalize my rx yet.

so what i really want to do is take a hot bath (which i cant because my hot water heater is retarded) and curl up in my blankie and cry. but instead i’m going to try and run.

run run run.

that the contents of my purse say something about me. i think i like what it says…

obvious things like wallet and keys aside, we have;

Heidegger: Basic Writings
tin of dice
string of pearls
matchbook from favorite steakhouse
fuzzy socks for friend lyza
burt’s bees lip shtuff
bust magazine
graphing calculator
laquered hairstick
extremely fancy log book with which to track expenditures (the irony therein not at all lost)
wine country chicken salad with cranberries and pecans from TJ’s + wheat thins

feeling smug about how awesome i seem to myself this morning. :}

contents of your stachel? come on, i showed you mine…

look. i’m willing to believe in a lot of weird crap that i do not understand: astrology, tarot cards, physics….

but i have never once had any cause to believe in ghosts. not that i think they don’t exist, but rather, they don’t tend to enter my version of reality. at least, they didn’t used to…

this week however, they’ve been all over the damn place. the knocking pipes only being the first incidence of three. two days after, there was a loud almost gunshot like series of reports in the evening. but the last straw was yesterday when hodie comes in from getting something out of the car for me to say that she heard a loud rapping on the car window and my voice calling her, only to look up and see no one was there. i didn’t tell her about the spookiness from earlier this week. she wasn’t even around for the 2nd incident. but now, it seems to involve her. and this scares me even more.

i think it would bother me less if the overall sense i got wasn’t so… angry. whatever it is that is employing these methods to get my attention seems perfectly content to terrorize me a little in order to get it.

i just want to go back to a world where me and the ghosties did not acknowledge each other’s existence. please?

not that you perverts.

i’ve always been a lousy sleeper. i have to read or listen to a podcast in order to fall asleep in the first place, since i have a tendency to chase myself around in my head at night. i wake up at the drop of a hat. if there’s any noise, or light, or persons, in the vicinity, i wake up.

someone suggested melatonin. i was skeptical, but since the suggestion came with a free sample supply, i decided to try it. pro: i did actually fall asleep quickly last night. con: i woke up about an hour later. i decided that i wanted to take a bath to warm up and hopefully drop off again quickly. well, that didn’t quite work out as planned…

i live in a plex where there are many common walls. the plumbing is fundamentally interconnected. and i know full well that when i take a bath, my neighbors can hear it. i know this cause i can hear their showers. so when the banging started, i thought “finally all that screaming and moaning has driven them over the high side and they don’t really want to listen to me bathe at 11pm. so i turned off my tap. but the banging, which was loud and persistent, went on well after i turned off the water. i could feel the vibration of the concussion vibrating the tub. and for some reason, this scared the shit out of me.

i got out of the tub, went to my front door, checked that it was locked. checked on hodie, (blissfully asleep; a freight train in the living room wouldn’t wake her) and crawled cowering into my bed. somehow, i knew this banging was directed at me, and the source had a malevolent intent. i almost started crying. it paused briefly after about 10 minutes, but then resumed as loud and insistent as ever. finally i cranked up the air purifier to full blast to drown out the sound of the banging, pulled a pillow over my head, and prayed for sleep.

eventually i drifted off, but woke up several more times during the night, even though the noise had stopped. i was so wound up from being inexplicably afraid that i just never managed to relax in full. at about 5am i finally gave up and rose for the day, but with that malaise that seems to come with the clinging bad dream. you know what i mean: those dreams that linger and persist in bothering and distracting you long after you have woken and begun your day.

for some reason, i just could not shake off this feeling of unease and apprehension. it went on all morning. i finally had to resort to asking my co-worker to hug me before it would dissipate. and this bothers me. because i like to think i am a rational grownup person who can explain to herself that what was most likely a random plumbing problem does not represent a threat to me in any significant way.

and perhaps in the dark of the night, when senses fail to pierce the shadow cast over them, this can be excused, but in the full light of the afternoon, it just feels like a character flaw.