For the past several months...or perhaps even longer than that...I have been feeling this strange disconnect from God, who I've always felt very bonded to and believed in with out any hesitation or doubt. It wasn't that this feeling made me question my beliefs or rethink my religion...it was simply that, somewhere, I had been lost. I had always felt like God was constantly right beside me, protecting me and aiding me even in my most miserable hours, cushioning the blows. Somewhere along the way, I lost that.
Maybe it was from the overwhelming compilation of my mistakes that had started to build up over the past two years. Maybe it was from lack of communication...the fact that I hadn't really prayed or even just talked with him colloquially in ages. Perhaps it was a culmination of all these things. It was a dreadful feeling...the sense that, even more than before, I was completely and utterly alone. And having lost the connection, I feared over my quality as a person and what fate would await me in the afterlife. I remembered hearing during some Bible class that if you committed enough sins, and they were horrible enough, your heart would be hardened from God.
I had never really understood exactly what that meant...but was that what had happened to me?
The past few months, since June really, have been unusually difficult for me. Financial, educational, work, health, and relationship problems began to stack up, one on top of the other, until it seemed like I was drowning in the weight of my responsibilities. I had never encountered so many difficulties all at once...it seemed like perhaps God had truly abandoned his post as protector, and let the negative forces of the world into my previously carefree life. For a while, I took it upon myself to blame my creator, to yell and chastise him for allowing these things to happen, to blaming him for all of the things I was too weak to blame on myself.
Then, perhaps somewhere, that yelling turned into begging. And that begging into pleading. The pleading into prayer.
And today, at a moment when I was feeling vulnerable and lost...truly alone and not knowing my way...wanting desperately to know some manner of hope...something happened.
I was driving in the car, on my way back home, listening to Matt Nathanson blare through the stereo. The song was "Car Crash", a wistful tune of promise. And a strong gust blew through the trees, sending a cascade of yellow, orange and red leaves dancing about my car in a blustery embrace. It elated my heart to see such a thing of beauty...it seemed as though it had been sent for me. And I had a deep, unshakable feeling that it was a message...a hug...from someone I had thought had long abandoned me.
That feeling brought tears to my eyes, so powerful was it.
Maybe this all seems crazy, blathering, non-sensicle. Perhaps those who do not believe in God will think me to be some over-the-top, preaching Christian, trying to force everyone to think and believe as I do. And perhaps it seems I'm overexaggerating a miniscule, natural event, and turning it into something meaningful.
But all that matters is that I felt it.
And it's nice to feel as though he's back.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Darkness
Should death be feared, or accepted?
Is it something we should come to terms with, or bitterly struggle to deny?
There are moments when I regard it with a sense of calm -- an understanding that it will come, and a peace about the passing. And then there are moments when the very idea terrifies me.
Perhaps the terrifying thing is not the act of death itself, but the "how".
And the "who". Who will I be when that day comes? Will I be the person that I want to be? Will I have shaped and molded myself into the type of person that I've worked these 23 years towards becoming?
And then the "what". What will I have done with the time that I've spent here? And what mistakes will I have made...what skeletons will follow me into my grave, and what will I fear dragging me down upon my arrival to the heavenly gates?
Perhaps it is not the idea of death itself, for me, which is terrifying...the fact that, in my life, I've made my mistakes, and my fear that I will not have had the time to correct them before I get there.
Or worse, that some are not correctable.
Is it something we should come to terms with, or bitterly struggle to deny?
There are moments when I regard it with a sense of calm -- an understanding that it will come, and a peace about the passing. And then there are moments when the very idea terrifies me.
Perhaps the terrifying thing is not the act of death itself, but the "how".
And the "who". Who will I be when that day comes? Will I be the person that I want to be? Will I have shaped and molded myself into the type of person that I've worked these 23 years towards becoming?
And then the "what". What will I have done with the time that I've spent here? And what mistakes will I have made...what skeletons will follow me into my grave, and what will I fear dragging me down upon my arrival to the heavenly gates?
Perhaps it is not the idea of death itself, for me, which is terrifying...the fact that, in my life, I've made my mistakes, and my fear that I will not have had the time to correct them before I get there.
Or worse, that some are not correctable.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Relationships versus Friendships
In terms of social connections, our friendships are often highly underrated.
Relationships are the big-budget, million-dollar blockbuster movies that everyone talks about and hypes up, until they line up in front of the box office on opening night to watch the 12 o'clock premier.
Friendships are the quiet, independent films that you accidentally happen up or are recommended to, and watch while snuggled up on the couch in pajamas on a Wednesday night.
Relationships are stressed and idealized in our society -- friendships are treated as something ordinary or given, like it is nothing special nor unique to have them.
Relationships are seen as the diamond -- friendships the rough.
I reject this thinking. Relationships often suffer from being far more flawed then our friendships are. Like the blockbuster movie, a relationship can occasionally live up to expectations...but so frequently it ends up being quite a disappointment, particularly after the build up. In relationships you endure the worry, the pain, the fights, the little tiffs, the things about them that irk you, the "conversations" about where everything is going. So often they go awry, and last long after their expiration date.
This is not to say that relationships are without their high, wonderful, exquisite points...it's only to say that they are far more complicated.
And yet friendships, so often, are so simple. They are easy, and fun, and relaxed. Fights are so much less common...it is so much more difficult to be hurt or let down by your friends. There is a special bond in knowing so much about another person, and with no other agenda then to simply spend time together. There is no wondering (usually anyways) about their motives, and you don't need to question where the friendship is going...it simply, beautifully is. And yet, these wonderful gems in our lives...the associations that make every heartache livable and every outing memorable...are placed second in line to the relationship. Shouldn't our friends be placed first? Not necessarily because we should spend more time with them than a significant other...but because long after a relationship has ended, your friends will still be there.
At least, I know mine will be. Maybe for that I am lucky.
But that brings me back to my point. I shouldn't just shrug my shoulders and consider it the norm that I have been blessed with friends who love me and care about me. I should feel exceptionally lucky to have them in my life.
And also, even with friendships, there are those moments of pure elation and happiness where you can feel 100% complete. That feeling is not relationship exclusive. I have felt it before myself, with my friendships.
...Stumbling into my best friend's house at 2 AM, crashing into his bed next to him and falling asleep, and having him not even mind...
...Walking in the middle of a turf farm at midnight with three close friends, an armful of blankets and a plastic baggy full of candy to lay out amongst the stars and enjoy idle conversation...
...Laughing over dinner and drinks with my four best girlfriends and knowing that, despite months apart from each other, our bond is still the same...
...Enjoying a night out, complete with movie, strip-club and cigar by the beach with my mentor and friend...
...or even a few days ago...driving in the car down the highway, listening to music and singing Journey, with three friends who make me laugh.
Moments like that...moments with true friends...is pure joy.
Relationships are the big-budget, million-dollar blockbuster movies that everyone talks about and hypes up, until they line up in front of the box office on opening night to watch the 12 o'clock premier.
Friendships are the quiet, independent films that you accidentally happen up or are recommended to, and watch while snuggled up on the couch in pajamas on a Wednesday night.
Relationships are stressed and idealized in our society -- friendships are treated as something ordinary or given, like it is nothing special nor unique to have them.
Relationships are seen as the diamond -- friendships the rough.
I reject this thinking. Relationships often suffer from being far more flawed then our friendships are. Like the blockbuster movie, a relationship can occasionally live up to expectations...but so frequently it ends up being quite a disappointment, particularly after the build up. In relationships you endure the worry, the pain, the fights, the little tiffs, the things about them that irk you, the "conversations" about where everything is going. So often they go awry, and last long after their expiration date.
This is not to say that relationships are without their high, wonderful, exquisite points...it's only to say that they are far more complicated.
And yet friendships, so often, are so simple. They are easy, and fun, and relaxed. Fights are so much less common...it is so much more difficult to be hurt or let down by your friends. There is a special bond in knowing so much about another person, and with no other agenda then to simply spend time together. There is no wondering (usually anyways) about their motives, and you don't need to question where the friendship is going...it simply, beautifully is. And yet, these wonderful gems in our lives...the associations that make every heartache livable and every outing memorable...are placed second in line to the relationship. Shouldn't our friends be placed first? Not necessarily because we should spend more time with them than a significant other...but because long after a relationship has ended, your friends will still be there.
At least, I know mine will be. Maybe for that I am lucky.
But that brings me back to my point. I shouldn't just shrug my shoulders and consider it the norm that I have been blessed with friends who love me and care about me. I should feel exceptionally lucky to have them in my life.
And also, even with friendships, there are those moments of pure elation and happiness where you can feel 100% complete. That feeling is not relationship exclusive. I have felt it before myself, with my friendships.
...Stumbling into my best friend's house at 2 AM, crashing into his bed next to him and falling asleep, and having him not even mind...
...Walking in the middle of a turf farm at midnight with three close friends, an armful of blankets and a plastic baggy full of candy to lay out amongst the stars and enjoy idle conversation...
...Laughing over dinner and drinks with my four best girlfriends and knowing that, despite months apart from each other, our bond is still the same...
...Enjoying a night out, complete with movie, strip-club and cigar by the beach with my mentor and friend...
...or even a few days ago...driving in the car down the highway, listening to music and singing Journey, with three friends who make me laugh.
Moments like that...moments with true friends...is pure joy.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Why Not Me?
I'm shamelessly going to mope now, and feel bad for myself.
So maybe I'm not a perfect person, and maybe I've made some (a lot) of mistakes in my past. Maybe I have a walk-in closet of skeletons and secrets that I've kept from most of the world, and maybe I live my life a little manically and recklessly in an endless search for something to make life meaningful and satisfying. Yet, everything that I've gone through and everything that I've done has brought me, now, to the person that I am and the person that I am going to be come. I like that person, and I wouldn't be her if I hadn't had all the life lessons that taught me about myself.
And for all my flaws and all my faults, I feel like I deserve to be loved and in a happy relationship just as much as anybody else. In truth, that's a half of all that I want out of life...to have adventures, and to find the right person to have those adventures with.
And all around me, it seems like everyone is getting paired up and married, while my latest relationship has recently gone down the drain for reasons that, still, baffle me. It hurts even more because it was with someone who I could REALLY see myself being with, for the long run...someone I felt so completely comfortable and compatible with. It begs the question, if that relationship couldn't work out for me, then which one will? And what is the likelihood that I'll find someone so much like me again?
I really want to be with someone who I can stand still with, and just enjoy every moment and not have to worry that they are going to leave me on a moments whim...to trust, and be assured that they will be there tomorrow. I want the person who is sweet, dependable yet adventurous, affectionate, free to demonstrate their love, interesting, intelligent, and who is proud and feels lucky to be with me. The one who will love me despite my past, my flaws, and all the things I've done, and see the person that I am now. The one who will hold me when I cry.
It sounds stupid, but perhaps that was one of the biggest things that troubled me about my last boyfriend. When I was upset and in tears, he just wanted to talk about the problem and how to fix it. Men need to understand that when a girl cries, she just wants to be held, and told that she's loved, and everything will be okay.
Have I placed impossible standards on my vision for a future mate? Is there anyone out there who so exists, who can stay next to me for the long haul? Who is willing, and ready, to make that kind of a commitment?
3 weeks post break-up, I'm still feeling lonely and a little depressed.
I guess I just have to trust that I will have that kind of happiness again. I've been in love before, and I'm sure (sparing death) that it won't be the last time. I know there will come a day when I meet the right person for me, and all my waiting will pay off...truly, for I will not have settled for anything less then real love. And I will be glad for my waiting, and for everything that brought me to him, and every stupid relationship that ended and every tear that I cried, because otherwise I would not have been free to be with him.
I know this.
I'm just getting a little impatient.
So maybe I'm not a perfect person, and maybe I've made some (a lot) of mistakes in my past. Maybe I have a walk-in closet of skeletons and secrets that I've kept from most of the world, and maybe I live my life a little manically and recklessly in an endless search for something to make life meaningful and satisfying. Yet, everything that I've gone through and everything that I've done has brought me, now, to the person that I am and the person that I am going to be come. I like that person, and I wouldn't be her if I hadn't had all the life lessons that taught me about myself.
And for all my flaws and all my faults, I feel like I deserve to be loved and in a happy relationship just as much as anybody else. In truth, that's a half of all that I want out of life...to have adventures, and to find the right person to have those adventures with.
And all around me, it seems like everyone is getting paired up and married, while my latest relationship has recently gone down the drain for reasons that, still, baffle me. It hurts even more because it was with someone who I could REALLY see myself being with, for the long run...someone I felt so completely comfortable and compatible with. It begs the question, if that relationship couldn't work out for me, then which one will? And what is the likelihood that I'll find someone so much like me again?
I really want to be with someone who I can stand still with, and just enjoy every moment and not have to worry that they are going to leave me on a moments whim...to trust, and be assured that they will be there tomorrow. I want the person who is sweet, dependable yet adventurous, affectionate, free to demonstrate their love, interesting, intelligent, and who is proud and feels lucky to be with me. The one who will love me despite my past, my flaws, and all the things I've done, and see the person that I am now. The one who will hold me when I cry.
It sounds stupid, but perhaps that was one of the biggest things that troubled me about my last boyfriend. When I was upset and in tears, he just wanted to talk about the problem and how to fix it. Men need to understand that when a girl cries, she just wants to be held, and told that she's loved, and everything will be okay.
Have I placed impossible standards on my vision for a future mate? Is there anyone out there who so exists, who can stay next to me for the long haul? Who is willing, and ready, to make that kind of a commitment?
3 weeks post break-up, I'm still feeling lonely and a little depressed.
I guess I just have to trust that I will have that kind of happiness again. I've been in love before, and I'm sure (sparing death) that it won't be the last time. I know there will come a day when I meet the right person for me, and all my waiting will pay off...truly, for I will not have settled for anything less then real love. And I will be glad for my waiting, and for everything that brought me to him, and every stupid relationship that ended and every tear that I cried, because otherwise I would not have been free to be with him.
I know this.
I'm just getting a little impatient.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Let's Start From Square One...
Newly single. Only about a week and a half, or so. Slowly starting to feel better, after a record-breaking (for me) 5 days of crying. Beginning to move on.
I heal fast.
The details of the break up up are muddled, and I'll go into that at another time. Let's just say for now that...he wasn't ready for the seriousness of our relationship, and to be in something that might potentially, inevitably lead to marriage. This is despite the fact that, allegedly, he still loves me.
What I really wanted to share was this quote from the last episode of Sex and the City, when Carrie breaks it off with her latest flame, Aleksandr Petrovsky, due to his inability to give her exactly what she needs in a relationship. She says:
"I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love. I'm not going to find it here in this expensive hotel suite, in Paris."
What she is looking for, in this episode...that it what I'm looking for. And despite the fact that I love my ex-boyfriend desperately, and probably will for a while, he can't give me what I need right now. I'm not going to find that love from him. In that instance, it's better that I be single, so that I can continue on my quest to find it. Maybe someday, after he's had his fun and is done gallivanting, that can be him, and he will be the one to give me what I need. Maybe not. But I know what it is that I'm looking for.
And I'm sure as hell not going to settle.
I heal fast.
The details of the break up up are muddled, and I'll go into that at another time. Let's just say for now that...he wasn't ready for the seriousness of our relationship, and to be in something that might potentially, inevitably lead to marriage. This is despite the fact that, allegedly, he still loves me.
What I really wanted to share was this quote from the last episode of Sex and the City, when Carrie breaks it off with her latest flame, Aleksandr Petrovsky, due to his inability to give her exactly what she needs in a relationship. She says:
"I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love. I'm not going to find it here in this expensive hotel suite, in Paris."
What she is looking for, in this episode...that it what I'm looking for. And despite the fact that I love my ex-boyfriend desperately, and probably will for a while, he can't give me what I need right now. I'm not going to find that love from him. In that instance, it's better that I be single, so that I can continue on my quest to find it. Maybe someday, after he's had his fun and is done gallivanting, that can be him, and he will be the one to give me what I need. Maybe not. But I know what it is that I'm looking for.
And I'm sure as hell not going to settle.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The Character of Me
If I were a character in a movie, who would I be?
Am I the girl who cowers in the corner and screams at the first sign of danger, or am I the woman with a tight outfit, gun strapped to her leg and mischievous glint in her eye, ready to play the hero?
Am I the outwardly-perfect girlfriend who the protagonist can never truly love, or am I the exotic, adventurous newcomer who opens his eyes to the world and what true love means?
Am I the small-town hopeful who desperately wishes that her dreams would come and find her, or am I the strong-minded career woman who seeks out her ambitions and makes them into reality?
The average woman faded into the background, or the superhero with powers beyond comprehension?
The self-conscious complainer who puts herself down, or self-confident athlete who could care less what the world thinks of her?
The prey, or the predator?
I know what it is that I want to be, and what I hope someday to become. I want to be the woman that other girls can admire, look up to and strive to be. I want to be the lead.
I know what it is that I want.
But which am I?
Am I the girl who cowers in the corner and screams at the first sign of danger, or am I the woman with a tight outfit, gun strapped to her leg and mischievous glint in her eye, ready to play the hero?
Am I the outwardly-perfect girlfriend who the protagonist can never truly love, or am I the exotic, adventurous newcomer who opens his eyes to the world and what true love means?
Am I the small-town hopeful who desperately wishes that her dreams would come and find her, or am I the strong-minded career woman who seeks out her ambitions and makes them into reality?
The average woman faded into the background, or the superhero with powers beyond comprehension?
The self-conscious complainer who puts herself down, or self-confident athlete who could care less what the world thinks of her?
The prey, or the predator?
I know what it is that I want to be, and what I hope someday to become. I want to be the woman that other girls can admire, look up to and strive to be. I want to be the lead.
I know what it is that I want.
But which am I?
Monday, July 7, 2008
Hurt Ramblings
I have this ugly big gash on the joint of my right index finger...another, smaller, a little further up on the same knuckle. That came from punching a wall. Good idea when angry and a little tipsy - bad idea when you wake up the next morning and find yourself bandaging the injury.
Earlier today, I cried in the shower. After some heart-wrenching news, I let myself slide down the side of the stall, curl my arms around my legs, and sob...not for a long time, but these little sporadic bursts. I'd wash...allow my mind to drift to some dismaying thought...then let out a few seconds of tears. Rinse. Repeat.
I feel like I've been here before...maybe this is not nearly so bad as it used to be, but it all seems so familiar. Three summers ago and the subsequent year, through the entirety of my relationship with Zack, I was in an insane tornado of emotions, with most of them being bad. Then, my pain manifested in frequent, horrible crying, intense depression, and scars along my skin which, I believe, nobody notices except me. (One I am particularly fond of, as it faces me any time I drive...a spider-web thin mark on the inner flesh of my arm, untraceable to most but distinctly me.)
And maybe it even reminds me a little bit of the heartache I felt a mere year ago when things with Trent went from disappointing to awful. There was this intense, terrible sense of embarrassment and helplessness and...betrayal. Like, how could I put in so much effort into this relationship, and you put in nothing? Look at all I've given up for you...what have you even dared to give up for me? What have you done to make this work.
That feeling, too, is very familiar.
And I hate being the girlfriend that gets upset...the one that is hurt every other night by something you've done. And for the past couple of weeks, I've blamed myself and told myself that it was my fault...I was being irrational and over-emotional and I just needed to deal with it and not care and things would be fine.
And then maybe, in a strange sense, this is the last straw.
I dealt with it okay when he stopped sending sweet text messages telling me that he loved and missed me, because when ever I came to visit, they would start up again after I left...for a little while. I was alright when the calls became less frequent and shorter. When the summer first started, we were on the phone ALL the time, for hours and hours on end, often playing a video game together. After the video game lost it's novelty and the day-time minutes began to rack up, the time that we spent in contact got a lot shorter, and I attributed it mostly to those other more reasonable factors...nothing to do with our relationship. I tried to let it go.
And then there was the night about a week ago, when I was told that I was "high maintenance" when it came to phone calls and how I shouldn't be upset if he didn't call one night and "just forgot." I cried...hard. I tried to argue my case that a phone call shows effort...it shows that you care...that you are thinking about the other person. And when he told me that he wasn't trying to insinuate anything or set me up for a bigger fall and that everything was fine with us...I tried really hard to believe him, and let it go.
Maybe it was around this time that I began to notice all the really happy couples, that we once were. The ones who leave away messages that say "Love you" to their significant other on their away message, or are constantly texting them with sweet messages, or SO excited to see them. I wondered where that had gone.
And here I am, now. Having rearranged my schedule and switched my work load around so that I could go and see him for a few days...sleep next to the man who says he loves me. And when I asked "Do you want me to come and see you tonight or tomorrow", I got the reply (2 hours later)..."Tomorrow sounds good."
Not a big deal, right?
Somehow, it just stung...so much.
"Why not tonight?" I ask. Curious.
"I'm with my friends tonight. Band stuff."
With friends he had seen the past 4 nights in a row. Who lived a whopping 5 minutes down the street. He can see them any time. Where as I...I live 3 and a half hours away. I was willing to take 4 hours and spend $70 in gas just so that I could be with him. And who does he choose? Not me.
And I miss those days when he used to get ecstatic to see me and beg me to come down a little bit earlier...just so I could see him. I am so pained at the loss of the nights when he would text me to tell me how excited he was to see me. Now when I ask if he's still up for having me come visit I get : "Yuppers."
Oh, fantastic.
I think I deserve better than this, and I think that my patience is wearing thin.
Earlier today, I cried in the shower. After some heart-wrenching news, I let myself slide down the side of the stall, curl my arms around my legs, and sob...not for a long time, but these little sporadic bursts. I'd wash...allow my mind to drift to some dismaying thought...then let out a few seconds of tears. Rinse. Repeat.
I feel like I've been here before...maybe this is not nearly so bad as it used to be, but it all seems so familiar. Three summers ago and the subsequent year, through the entirety of my relationship with Zack, I was in an insane tornado of emotions, with most of them being bad. Then, my pain manifested in frequent, horrible crying, intense depression, and scars along my skin which, I believe, nobody notices except me. (One I am particularly fond of, as it faces me any time I drive...a spider-web thin mark on the inner flesh of my arm, untraceable to most but distinctly me.)
And maybe it even reminds me a little bit of the heartache I felt a mere year ago when things with Trent went from disappointing to awful. There was this intense, terrible sense of embarrassment and helplessness and...betrayal. Like, how could I put in so much effort into this relationship, and you put in nothing? Look at all I've given up for you...what have you even dared to give up for me? What have you done to make this work.
That feeling, too, is very familiar.
And I hate being the girlfriend that gets upset...the one that is hurt every other night by something you've done. And for the past couple of weeks, I've blamed myself and told myself that it was my fault...I was being irrational and over-emotional and I just needed to deal with it and not care and things would be fine.
And then maybe, in a strange sense, this is the last straw.
I dealt with it okay when he stopped sending sweet text messages telling me that he loved and missed me, because when ever I came to visit, they would start up again after I left...for a little while. I was alright when the calls became less frequent and shorter. When the summer first started, we were on the phone ALL the time, for hours and hours on end, often playing a video game together. After the video game lost it's novelty and the day-time minutes began to rack up, the time that we spent in contact got a lot shorter, and I attributed it mostly to those other more reasonable factors...nothing to do with our relationship. I tried to let it go.
And then there was the night about a week ago, when I was told that I was "high maintenance" when it came to phone calls and how I shouldn't be upset if he didn't call one night and "just forgot." I cried...hard. I tried to argue my case that a phone call shows effort...it shows that you care...that you are thinking about the other person. And when he told me that he wasn't trying to insinuate anything or set me up for a bigger fall and that everything was fine with us...I tried really hard to believe him, and let it go.
Maybe it was around this time that I began to notice all the really happy couples, that we once were. The ones who leave away messages that say "Love you" to their significant other on their away message, or are constantly texting them with sweet messages, or SO excited to see them. I wondered where that had gone.
And here I am, now. Having rearranged my schedule and switched my work load around so that I could go and see him for a few days...sleep next to the man who says he loves me. And when I asked "Do you want me to come and see you tonight or tomorrow", I got the reply (2 hours later)..."Tomorrow sounds good."
Not a big deal, right?
Somehow, it just stung...so much.
"Why not tonight?" I ask. Curious.
"I'm with my friends tonight. Band stuff."
With friends he had seen the past 4 nights in a row. Who lived a whopping 5 minutes down the street. He can see them any time. Where as I...I live 3 and a half hours away. I was willing to take 4 hours and spend $70 in gas just so that I could be with him. And who does he choose? Not me.
And I miss those days when he used to get ecstatic to see me and beg me to come down a little bit earlier...just so I could see him. I am so pained at the loss of the nights when he would text me to tell me how excited he was to see me. Now when I ask if he's still up for having me come visit I get : "Yuppers."
Oh, fantastic.
I think I deserve better than this, and I think that my patience is wearing thin.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Name Your Fears
I am, inherently, a very emotional person.I am primarily driven by my feelings, in all that I say and do and choose, for better or for worse.
It is for this reason that my friend Steve affectionately dubbed me as the "emotional fireball", and refers to solving any emotional crisis of mine as "defusing the time-bomb". He is fully aware that, left to my own devices, I will rethink and reanalyze something until it eats away at me and I eventually (metaphorically) explode...often with unfortunate consequences. My feelings need to be kept in check.
In some ways, my extremely emotional nature has been a positive force in my life. I am capable of loving, caring for, and enjoying things more deeply than most people...my feelings on such matters run deep and impenetrably. Yet, it can also manifest in very negative ways. I am prone to extreme fits of sadness, anxiety, fear, helplessness and anger. Most of the time, I'm very good at hiding these bouts -- sometimes, not so much, and it ends up negatively impacting my relationships with people.
I've been needing to find a way to control these emotions, and have a better handle on them. At 23 years of age, and with a full span of life ahead of me, I don't want to be owned and kept down by my own negativity. I want to live happily and positively, no matter what the situation. I want to be confident in myself, without needing the approval of others. This can be accomplished by becoming the master of my own feelings.
One way of doing this, as I was recently reading in Self magazine (July 2008), is to give those negative feelings a separate identity from yourself...even up to donning on them a name or an image...so that rather than accepting those emotions as an inevitable part of who you are, you can deal with them and confront them...do something about them. You can tell that mean little voice in your head to be quiet, and silence it. You can choose to talk back to every insult, every put-down, until you begin to believe in the positive reassurance yourself. Until eventually those negative, irrational feelings begin to back down, and you can replace them with positive, logical thoughts.
Apparently this is something practiced by Buddhists, known as vipassana or apostrophizing.
In scientific studies, it apparently changes the activity location in the brain to label an emotion rather than to simply allow yourself to be engulfed in it.
I've been practicing it today. Every time that a self-deprecating thought floats through my mind, I try to challenge it and negate it...strip the thought of its power, and thus divert the emotion. So far, it seems to be helping, if only a little bit. But I imagine that with a great deal of practice, it can really help to silence that awkward, self-conscious voice that everybody has in their mind. I'm hoping especially that it can help me to get over my relationship anxieties, so that rather that succumb to worries about my boyfriend, I can merely identify my fears and say, "Those thoughts are unlikely. He loves me, so just relax." And hopefully, I can listen to that voice instead.
I'll try to update a little bit more about how this works out for me in the future.
But hey, I'm trying.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Karma...
Maybe I'm being rewarded for doing the right thing, and sticking to my convictions.
Maybe karma is acting in my favor.
All I know is that I had a choice tonight...one where, in the past, I probably would have taken the unrighteous path. Instead, I chose to be the better person and do I what I felt was right. It seemed like my long-delayed sense of guilt had finally kicked in, helping to lead me towards all the right choices.
And then, in turn, I got exactly what I wanted and needed to feel happy.
Karma can be a bitch.
But only if you go the wrong way.
If you stick to your values and morals, karma can be your best friend.
Maybe karma is acting in my favor.
All I know is that I had a choice tonight...one where, in the past, I probably would have taken the unrighteous path. Instead, I chose to be the better person and do I what I felt was right. It seemed like my long-delayed sense of guilt had finally kicked in, helping to lead me towards all the right choices.
And then, in turn, I got exactly what I wanted and needed to feel happy.
Karma can be a bitch.
But only if you go the wrong way.
If you stick to your values and morals, karma can be your best friend.
Random Musings
I have had a lot of experiences in my life when it comes to relationships. I've dealt with the long-term, the short-term, the very very short-term, and the undefined. Some have been wonderful, some lacking, and some downright horrible. Through all of them, I like to think that I've learned a lot about myself and what it is I'm looking for in a relationship...and also, what I'm not. I've grown stronger as an individual through each of them, even if I had to be completely broken down in order for that to happen. I've become a more mature person for it.
For example, my two-year stint in an emotionally abusive relationship has taught me that I will never put up with being treated that way again, and that I deserve better than that.
In more recent times, I've discovered that I have the strength to end things myself rather than wait pitifully for them to be cut off for me, when I know that something is wrong.
Yet, there are certain ways in which my past experiences have affected me negatively, especially when dating someone new. I am rather paranoid, for all of the times that I was formerly betrayed. I am cautious when revealing my true nature and self, due to the ridicule I endured by a boyfriend who was less-than accepting of my personality. My last few relationships were outwardly blissful when they were suddenly and unexpectedly ended, leading me to feel constantly vulnerable to a spontaneous break-up. And when my last boyfriend left me for someone else...well, maybe to a degree I feel less self-confident in myself for it.
In many ways, these feelings are ridiculous, and I hate them about myself. I have been in a relationship now for the past 6 months, which someone who has, for the most part, given me no reasons not to trust him. With the exception of one mistake, he has always called when he said he would. He is loving and affectionate and only unkind in jest. He loves me, and acts accordingly, and is reassuring that he would never betray or destroy what we have.
And yet, the insecurities derived from my past still eat at me...still cause me worry.
When he's out at a party or large social gathering, I can't help but feel anxious that he will meet someone else...forget about me...neglect to call...all thoughts that are ridiculous, considering the positive trend in our relationship that we've had so far.
Maybe I'm afraid to be happy, for fear that the happiness will end, and I'll be left looking like a fool for believing it to be true.
Yet, I don't think that it's wise to allow such past experiences to destroy what you have now. Putting expectations on a new person based on what others did before will only be detrimental to the bond that you are forming. A relationship can only be build strongly with trust, and to deny it that would cause a flimsy and unstable foundation. And I do truly believe that good people...good men...are out there, simply hiding amongst the masses of jerks. (I once estimated the ratio to be about 9:1). It would be a tragedy to drive one of those kind-hearted, loving, devoted men away, just because of the flaws of another.
And so tonight, as I sit at home writing in my blog, while my boyfriend is out at a social gathering with a few guy friends, I'm trying not to worry.
Because he's given me no reason to thus far.
And so, for now, I should trust.
For example, my two-year stint in an emotionally abusive relationship has taught me that I will never put up with being treated that way again, and that I deserve better than that.
In more recent times, I've discovered that I have the strength to end things myself rather than wait pitifully for them to be cut off for me, when I know that something is wrong.
Yet, there are certain ways in which my past experiences have affected me negatively, especially when dating someone new. I am rather paranoid, for all of the times that I was formerly betrayed. I am cautious when revealing my true nature and self, due to the ridicule I endured by a boyfriend who was less-than accepting of my personality. My last few relationships were outwardly blissful when they were suddenly and unexpectedly ended, leading me to feel constantly vulnerable to a spontaneous break-up. And when my last boyfriend left me for someone else...well, maybe to a degree I feel less self-confident in myself for it.
In many ways, these feelings are ridiculous, and I hate them about myself. I have been in a relationship now for the past 6 months, which someone who has, for the most part, given me no reasons not to trust him. With the exception of one mistake, he has always called when he said he would. He is loving and affectionate and only unkind in jest. He loves me, and acts accordingly, and is reassuring that he would never betray or destroy what we have.
And yet, the insecurities derived from my past still eat at me...still cause me worry.
When he's out at a party or large social gathering, I can't help but feel anxious that he will meet someone else...forget about me...neglect to call...all thoughts that are ridiculous, considering the positive trend in our relationship that we've had so far.
Maybe I'm afraid to be happy, for fear that the happiness will end, and I'll be left looking like a fool for believing it to be true.
Yet, I don't think that it's wise to allow such past experiences to destroy what you have now. Putting expectations on a new person based on what others did before will only be detrimental to the bond that you are forming. A relationship can only be build strongly with trust, and to deny it that would cause a flimsy and unstable foundation. And I do truly believe that good people...good men...are out there, simply hiding amongst the masses of jerks. (I once estimated the ratio to be about 9:1). It would be a tragedy to drive one of those kind-hearted, loving, devoted men away, just because of the flaws of another.
And so tonight, as I sit at home writing in my blog, while my boyfriend is out at a social gathering with a few guy friends, I'm trying not to worry.
Because he's given me no reason to thus far.
And so, for now, I should trust.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
The Biggest Flaw
A while ago, I wrote a poem that outlined my greatest faults, in a therapeutic attempt to dissect my own personality and come to a greater understanding of my own inadequacies...and maybe, through that, be able to fix them. That poem, to this day, is still one of my favorite poems that I have ever written.
Yet, over the last few months I have realized that I have an even greater flaw that I never thought to include...perhaps because it is so deeply embedded in me that I hardly noticed it was there. Or maybe I just thought it was natural, and something that everyone goes through. I desperately, tragically, constantly avoid anything uncomfortable or any confrontation. I don't deal well with anger or frustration or having the blame placed on me, even when it is most certainly my fault. I will lie to escape any sort of uncomfortable situation - I will avoid someone inevitably, just to escape an argument. I suppose I am happier with the unknown - never reaching a conclusion to a problem, just because I don't want to deal with the problem itself.
And I'll avoid knowledge that may be negative...avoid finding out something that may make me unhappy or upset, just because I fear deeply those emotions. And though there might be comfort or relief in knowing, it's a chance I do not take.
It's funny, because I see it in my own brother. I watch as he, day after day, refuses to look at his class grades online, just because he is afraid of what they will be. He will wait, stubbornly, until they come in the mail and he HAS to deal with them...just because he'd rather keep his blissful ignorance for a while. It's funny how similar we can be at times.
It's a flaw we both should really work on, and strive to change. And knowing that I have this error in my make, you'd think that it would be easy to overcome it and reach a better state of my own self. But even in that, too, I am stubborn...and even in that, I avoid the uncomfortable effort that comes with making the change.
Yet, over the last few months I have realized that I have an even greater flaw that I never thought to include...perhaps because it is so deeply embedded in me that I hardly noticed it was there. Or maybe I just thought it was natural, and something that everyone goes through. I desperately, tragically, constantly avoid anything uncomfortable or any confrontation. I don't deal well with anger or frustration or having the blame placed on me, even when it is most certainly my fault. I will lie to escape any sort of uncomfortable situation - I will avoid someone inevitably, just to escape an argument. I suppose I am happier with the unknown - never reaching a conclusion to a problem, just because I don't want to deal with the problem itself.
And I'll avoid knowledge that may be negative...avoid finding out something that may make me unhappy or upset, just because I fear deeply those emotions. And though there might be comfort or relief in knowing, it's a chance I do not take.
It's funny, because I see it in my own brother. I watch as he, day after day, refuses to look at his class grades online, just because he is afraid of what they will be. He will wait, stubbornly, until they come in the mail and he HAS to deal with them...just because he'd rather keep his blissful ignorance for a while. It's funny how similar we can be at times.
It's a flaw we both should really work on, and strive to change. And knowing that I have this error in my make, you'd think that it would be easy to overcome it and reach a better state of my own self. But even in that, too, I am stubborn...and even in that, I avoid the uncomfortable effort that comes with making the change.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Sea Fever
"Sea-Fever"
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)
I like this poem. I grew up on the shores of Connecticut, and have always lived within a few miles drive of the sea. It is part of my home, and I can't imagine living somewhere without an ocean nearby. It digs itself inside of you, crawling inside of your veins and urging you to be emerged in the water. The crashing of waves calls you back to the primordial womb, bringing out the most basic and instinctual of desires. When on it, wind ripping through your hair, you are more alive than you have ever been before, aware of every feeling and sensation and movement. When in it, it is almost like flying.
Maybe only people who spend a lot of time near the water can relate -- those from coastal towns or who make their living on the sea. But given enough time, it becomes an inherent part of you.
I must go down to the seas again.
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)
I like this poem. I grew up on the shores of Connecticut, and have always lived within a few miles drive of the sea. It is part of my home, and I can't imagine living somewhere without an ocean nearby. It digs itself inside of you, crawling inside of your veins and urging you to be emerged in the water. The crashing of waves calls you back to the primordial womb, bringing out the most basic and instinctual of desires. When on it, wind ripping through your hair, you are more alive than you have ever been before, aware of every feeling and sensation and movement. When in it, it is almost like flying.
Maybe only people who spend a lot of time near the water can relate -- those from coastal towns or who make their living on the sea. But given enough time, it becomes an inherent part of you.
I must go down to the seas again.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Life Doesn't Hurt
I was MySpace stalking my best friend Melissa when I came across this quote on her profile, and I rather liked it:
"Life doesn't hurt until you think about how much things have changed, who you've lost along the way, and how much of it was your fault."
That resonates in me and strikes me as very true. There are moments...especially in times of quiet, when walking or driving or relaxing...when I begin to remember events and people from my past, and I am struck with a deep sense of melancholy. I am pained by the horrible things that people have done to me, and the awful situations which I have, at times, found myself in. I am humbled and shamed by the mistakes of my own. And perhaps the saddest moment of all is when I think of all the friends that I have lost contact with during my 22 years of life.
And, as the quote states, when I realize that a lot of it was my doing.
I think one of the three greatest regrets of my life is along this vein, and is related to the loss of my high-school best friend. He and I have since drifted far, far apart...we never talk, only occasionally bump into each other, and my attempts at rekindling a friendship have failed. Perhaps I was the first to cause the rift between us...during the dark, depressed years of my sophomore year, I certainly did not make enough time for him, when I should have. And yet, I think the final blow was his...the fact that my attempts to make things right were ignored.
And the pain is in the fact that once, we were inseparable. We spent every weekend together, hung out during every school lunch period, had a plethora of inside jokes. He knew all of my secrets, no matter how dark, and I was the only one who could read him like a book. We were perfectly content to just sit inside and watch movies all day, laughing and enjoying our time together. There was really no need for anyone else - we had each other, as the closest of best friends.
And now...to have lost that...it pains me.
But maybe I needed to experience that loss, in order to learn that I should never make the same mistake again, and completely neglect my friends. To remember that friendship is the most important thing that you can earn in life, and the lose it would be a tragedy. To learn that people cannot be ignored, and then picked up later when it is more convenient.
All these things I now understand.
And at least I got to enjoy that time of deep, effortless friendship...if only for a while.
"Life doesn't hurt until you think about how much things have changed, who you've lost along the way, and how much of it was your fault."
That resonates in me and strikes me as very true. There are moments...especially in times of quiet, when walking or driving or relaxing...when I begin to remember events and people from my past, and I am struck with a deep sense of melancholy. I am pained by the horrible things that people have done to me, and the awful situations which I have, at times, found myself in. I am humbled and shamed by the mistakes of my own. And perhaps the saddest moment of all is when I think of all the friends that I have lost contact with during my 22 years of life.
And, as the quote states, when I realize that a lot of it was my doing.
I think one of the three greatest regrets of my life is along this vein, and is related to the loss of my high-school best friend. He and I have since drifted far, far apart...we never talk, only occasionally bump into each other, and my attempts at rekindling a friendship have failed. Perhaps I was the first to cause the rift between us...during the dark, depressed years of my sophomore year, I certainly did not make enough time for him, when I should have. And yet, I think the final blow was his...the fact that my attempts to make things right were ignored.
And the pain is in the fact that once, we were inseparable. We spent every weekend together, hung out during every school lunch period, had a plethora of inside jokes. He knew all of my secrets, no matter how dark, and I was the only one who could read him like a book. We were perfectly content to just sit inside and watch movies all day, laughing and enjoying our time together. There was really no need for anyone else - we had each other, as the closest of best friends.
And now...to have lost that...it pains me.
But maybe I needed to experience that loss, in order to learn that I should never make the same mistake again, and completely neglect my friends. To remember that friendship is the most important thing that you can earn in life, and the lose it would be a tragedy. To learn that people cannot be ignored, and then picked up later when it is more convenient.
All these things I now understand.
And at least I got to enjoy that time of deep, effortless friendship...if only for a while.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Why I Love Survival Horror
Here's a little divergence from my normal, philosophical rambling.I was very deep into the God of War game series (had just defeated Ares in God of War I) and was searching for a new game to play when my boyfriend dropped Resident Evil 4 on my lap and told me I should try it. Now, John has never steered me wrong, especially not in terms of video games. He is the one who lead me to God of War and Final Fantasy X, both of which I completed, and Devil May Cry, which I took a break from to start Resident Evil. I popped the disk, settled with John on the couch, and began to play.
At first, I was not impressed. I have never dealt well with horror movies, and the Ganados (zombie-like Spaniards) encountered in Resident Evil 4 were certainly frightening. I would scream or screech every time I turned around to find a monster lurking behind me, and had some difficult mastering the controls...especially since I tend to get flustered in moments of intensity. It was frightening, high-intensity, and complex, and I longed for the days of hacking and slashing with Kratos in God of War.
But, a few playing sessions passed and I found myself absolutely absorbed in the game. I loved the deep and complex storyline and grew attached to the plight of the characters...especially the main character, Leon Kennedy. After completing Resident Evil 4, I promptly played it a second time. John and I then moved on to Resident Evil 2, completing the A and B scenarios for each character, and finished the main series with Resident Evil 3. Yes, we were on a Resident Evil kick. A bit of a momentary obsession, perhaps. And I wondered what it was that got me hooked...especially since I was so apprehensive about it, in the first place.
Even though I've never been good with horror movies, it eventually struck me that I've always loved survival *horror*. Event Horizon, Doom, Pitch Black...I've always loved movies about being trapped in a difficult, frightening, fantastic situation, and having to use your wits and available resources to survive. It's quick, faced paced, and exhilarating, and there is never a free moment for the characters to react...they must act instantly in order to get past the zombies, vampires or monsters which face them. And, if they are sharp and in-shape enough, they will make it through.
That's what survival horror games bring to the table, while transporting you and making you involved in that world. It is a game of eat or be eaten, and it brings back the most basic of instincts...to avoid being hunted. It evokes emotions unlike those found in any other game...those of fear, suspense, dread, shock, surprise, and upon success, exhilaration. Sometimes you need to step away from the game, if you are not in a place or in the mood for fear, or if frustrated by a particularly difficult foe...but it's intoxicating to experience these feelings that you don't really encounter in real, civilized life. Emotions that are dead outside of a real battlefield.
Not only that, the Resident Evil games, and likewise series, are rich in storyline and huge on character development. They use similar characters throughout each of their games, such that you become attached and interested in the fate of each character...be it Leon, Ada, Jill, Claire, or Chris. The plot, which is woven and entangled through each installment, keeps you coming back for more and coming back to the games to unfold new plot details. That's what makes it addictive.
Survival horror. Indeed, there is no genre quite like it.
Oh yeah. Also, you get to be pretty bad-ass with a shotgun.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Strange Comfort
In most of my mistakes, big and small, it is comforting that I know my own self extremely well, and that even if I had to repeat the experience over, I would probably do the same thing every time.
That fact makes each error seem drastically less tragic, as it is not a fluke occurrence, but rather an inevitable event as a result of my personality and flaws.
It is, in a way, my own self-driven destiny.
And somehow, that makes me feel better.
That fact makes each error seem drastically less tragic, as it is not a fluke occurrence, but rather an inevitable event as a result of my personality and flaws.
It is, in a way, my own self-driven destiny.
And somehow, that makes me feel better.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The Three Sisters
In Greek mythology (and also described in other contexts in Roman, Romanian, Germanic Norn and Bavarian folklore), there were three sisters of fate, otherwise known as Moirae. They controlled the thinly-woven thread of each life, be it God, animal, or human. Clotho spun the thread from her distaff, while Lachesis measured it with her rod and determined how much time on the Earth would be allotted to each person. The final sister, Atropos, cut the thread, and in doing so, chose how each death would occur. Worshiped, revered but ultimately feared, they determined the course of each existence on the third day after birth, and that path could not be diverted from. Each moment, each experience, each monument was already decided, to the ignorance of the individual. People were merely players in a script that had already been written, reading it for the first time page-by-page on an all-too elaborate stage.
I've never been quite certain as to my feelings on fate. There are moments when I believe in destiny and the inevitable, and times when I doubt there is such a cosmic plan and feel that the course of time is driven by the twins of choice and chance. To believe in a pre-destined path is both comforting and stifling at the same time - it is disconcerting to believe that you have little choice in the course of your own life, yet, in times of despair or trouble, sets the mind at ease. It is consoling to believe that everything happens for a reason, and all will turn out well in the end.
And indeed, there are coincidences in my life that make me feel that it is all too perfect to be random...that the puzzle-pieces form too complete a picture to be the product of luck.
And then still, at times, life seems haphazard and unforgiving, and it seems that any purpose for it is impossible to find.
It is one of those unending, impossible questions that cannot be answered in life, and will only be resolved in the afterlife, if such a thing exists. And in truth, does it really matter what drives our destiny? Our life will occur as it will either way, and perhaps it is best to simply believe that which is most comforting, or most akin to our other beliefs. Perhaps to debate the existence or non-existence of fate is pointless. If there is destiny, than our best choices and decisions are certainly a part of it. If not, then they should aide in creating a better future.
And maybe there is the possibility of there being both...rather than a inevitable, singular path, perhaps each life is instead a complicated maze of twists and turns, cross-roads and caverns, forks and falls. A path in which there are several destinies, and the quality of your choices and actions determines the final outcome.
If such is the case, then I propose a different triad of sisters.
Call them Choice, Chance and Fate.
And you may believe in whichever set of sisters you choose.
I've never been quite certain as to my feelings on fate. There are moments when I believe in destiny and the inevitable, and times when I doubt there is such a cosmic plan and feel that the course of time is driven by the twins of choice and chance. To believe in a pre-destined path is both comforting and stifling at the same time - it is disconcerting to believe that you have little choice in the course of your own life, yet, in times of despair or trouble, sets the mind at ease. It is consoling to believe that everything happens for a reason, and all will turn out well in the end.
And indeed, there are coincidences in my life that make me feel that it is all too perfect to be random...that the puzzle-pieces form too complete a picture to be the product of luck.
And then still, at times, life seems haphazard and unforgiving, and it seems that any purpose for it is impossible to find.
It is one of those unending, impossible questions that cannot be answered in life, and will only be resolved in the afterlife, if such a thing exists. And in truth, does it really matter what drives our destiny? Our life will occur as it will either way, and perhaps it is best to simply believe that which is most comforting, or most akin to our other beliefs. Perhaps to debate the existence or non-existence of fate is pointless. If there is destiny, than our best choices and decisions are certainly a part of it. If not, then they should aide in creating a better future.
And maybe there is the possibility of there being both...rather than a inevitable, singular path, perhaps each life is instead a complicated maze of twists and turns, cross-roads and caverns, forks and falls. A path in which there are several destinies, and the quality of your choices and actions determines the final outcome.
If such is the case, then I propose a different triad of sisters.
Call them Choice, Chance and Fate.
And you may believe in whichever set of sisters you choose.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Me and My Evil Twin
I've always known that I am two distinctively different people when I am in a relationship, and when I am single.
This comes to mind after my most recent attempt to "go out" last night to the various casinos around my Connecticut home town, despite the fact that my significant other is on spring break in New Jersey. During the summer, when I was in and out of fleeting relationships and for the most part quite single, I was out and partying most nights of the week. My counterpart, Melissa, and I frequented the local clubs at every opportunity and spent weekday evenings hopping between various groups of friends. There were few nights where we went home before at least 1 am - in particular, I can clearly recall crawling into bed at 4 in the morning after a particularly late evening, and then waking up at 6 am to head to work. We were quintessential party girls and night owls, and at the time, we absolutely loved it.
I've been in a serious relationship for the past three months now, and that person isn't really me any more. I haven't gone to a club in months, and my trips to the bar with friends have been few and far between. I find myself tired and ready for sleep around 11 or 12 (which may have more to do with work than my relationship status, but I digress) and with a lack of desire to really drink. I am quite content to spend my evenings curled up on the couch with my boyfriend, watch a movie, play some video games, cuddle up and fall asleep - and, because we are so compatible, it's wonderful and just as much fun as going out. All I could think about last night (especially since the night did not pan out as I had planned) was how much I wanted to relax in bed with him and watch a zombie movie.
It is me, and my wild twin...two quite different personalities, simply based on what stage in my life I am in.
Single me is untamed, impatient, and easily bored. She is constantly on the move and never sits still, needing to be occupied by activity and with people at every moment. She is flirtatious, overly friendly, and spontaneous. To a degree, she is self-destructive. Every day needs to be an adventure, and, as can be expected, drama follows close behind. She is the life of every party, always needing to be the focus of attention, and in attendance at every event.
Relationship me is more calm, relaxed, and takes the time to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. She is polite but unresponsive to the provokes of men, and is quick to assert that she is taken if asked. She takes each day slowly and carefully and gives everything to the people which she cares for. She is careful to keep her personal life secretive and is rare to divulge information about herself, preferring to keep people in the dark and maintain a degree of privacy. She is quieter than her wild twin.
And each personality has its perks, benefits and positive traits. Both of them have their flaws. To a degree, I wish I could blend the best parts of both and come to a solid, unified version of myself...whether I am single, or not.
But then again, both aspects benefit my needs at the time. The personalities are carefully designed and crafted to keep me ultimately happy and enjoying each moment. And maybe if I blended the two, it wouldn't be so, and I would find myself more miserable during my states of being single, or more unhappy when with a significant other.
So it may indeed be best this way.
It's just strange feeling like two people at once.
This comes to mind after my most recent attempt to "go out" last night to the various casinos around my Connecticut home town, despite the fact that my significant other is on spring break in New Jersey. During the summer, when I was in and out of fleeting relationships and for the most part quite single, I was out and partying most nights of the week. My counterpart, Melissa, and I frequented the local clubs at every opportunity and spent weekday evenings hopping between various groups of friends. There were few nights where we went home before at least 1 am - in particular, I can clearly recall crawling into bed at 4 in the morning after a particularly late evening, and then waking up at 6 am to head to work. We were quintessential party girls and night owls, and at the time, we absolutely loved it.
I've been in a serious relationship for the past three months now, and that person isn't really me any more. I haven't gone to a club in months, and my trips to the bar with friends have been few and far between. I find myself tired and ready for sleep around 11 or 12 (which may have more to do with work than my relationship status, but I digress) and with a lack of desire to really drink. I am quite content to spend my evenings curled up on the couch with my boyfriend, watch a movie, play some video games, cuddle up and fall asleep - and, because we are so compatible, it's wonderful and just as much fun as going out. All I could think about last night (especially since the night did not pan out as I had planned) was how much I wanted to relax in bed with him and watch a zombie movie.
It is me, and my wild twin...two quite different personalities, simply based on what stage in my life I am in.
Single me is untamed, impatient, and easily bored. She is constantly on the move and never sits still, needing to be occupied by activity and with people at every moment. She is flirtatious, overly friendly, and spontaneous. To a degree, she is self-destructive. Every day needs to be an adventure, and, as can be expected, drama follows close behind. She is the life of every party, always needing to be the focus of attention, and in attendance at every event.
Relationship me is more calm, relaxed, and takes the time to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. She is polite but unresponsive to the provokes of men, and is quick to assert that she is taken if asked. She takes each day slowly and carefully and gives everything to the people which she cares for. She is careful to keep her personal life secretive and is rare to divulge information about herself, preferring to keep people in the dark and maintain a degree of privacy. She is quieter than her wild twin.
And each personality has its perks, benefits and positive traits. Both of them have their flaws. To a degree, I wish I could blend the best parts of both and come to a solid, unified version of myself...whether I am single, or not.
But then again, both aspects benefit my needs at the time. The personalities are carefully designed and crafted to keep me ultimately happy and enjoying each moment. And maybe if I blended the two, it wouldn't be so, and I would find myself more miserable during my states of being single, or more unhappy when with a significant other.
So it may indeed be best this way.
It's just strange feeling like two people at once.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Love is Risk
Relationships, for me, have never come easy.
Not, particularly, in an emotional sense, but in terms of the effort which has been necessary to keep them alive. For the most part, this has manifested as distance. My significant others have always been at least an hour's drive away (three hours at the maximum), thus making the relationship far more of a challenge. Nightly phone conversations, meaningful gifts and many gallons of gas were needed to maintain the bond which had been built...moments together, which so many couples take for granted, were considered precious and rare. It was difficult to upkeep, requiring a lot of extra work and hours on the road - yet, it was effort I was always willing to do.
And even now, in my most current relationship, it has not necessarily been easy. There have been roadblocks put up between us at many steps along the way, but through sheer force of will (and perhaps an innate stubbornness, on both our parts) we have hurdled them all...and, through all the work, found myself in a state of happiness, with someone I wouldn't trade for anything.
All of these experiences have made me realize that love is risk. It is not necessarily going to be easy. There will be challenges and difficulties along the way...problems that make you think that maybe it's not worth it. There will be people who will stand in your way, conventions that must be broken, expectations to be surpassed. It could be distance, as it has often been with me, or it could be age, religion, race, differences in opinion, differences in friends or family lifestyle, flaws in personality...anything.
But with the right person, it is always worth it to take that risk. The effort and the work that it takes to surpass all these problems can only deepen the bond between the two individuals. It makes the moments together all the more sweet and blissful, because it is deeply appreciated. If it was always easy, the love would not appear to be anything special...and, as mundane things often do, it would fade. It is the risk which makes it exciting, adventurous, intoxicating, and at the same time comfortable. It is a test, in order to ensure that the relationship is right...because if you aren't willing to fight for it, what's the point?
I suppose in all of this, my point is to take the risk. Don't turn down the opportunity for love or happiness because a roadblock stands in your way, in any form.
You may just find it was worth it.
Not, particularly, in an emotional sense, but in terms of the effort which has been necessary to keep them alive. For the most part, this has manifested as distance. My significant others have always been at least an hour's drive away (three hours at the maximum), thus making the relationship far more of a challenge. Nightly phone conversations, meaningful gifts and many gallons of gas were needed to maintain the bond which had been built...moments together, which so many couples take for granted, were considered precious and rare. It was difficult to upkeep, requiring a lot of extra work and hours on the road - yet, it was effort I was always willing to do.
And even now, in my most current relationship, it has not necessarily been easy. There have been roadblocks put up between us at many steps along the way, but through sheer force of will (and perhaps an innate stubbornness, on both our parts) we have hurdled them all...and, through all the work, found myself in a state of happiness, with someone I wouldn't trade for anything.
All of these experiences have made me realize that love is risk. It is not necessarily going to be easy. There will be challenges and difficulties along the way...problems that make you think that maybe it's not worth it. There will be people who will stand in your way, conventions that must be broken, expectations to be surpassed. It could be distance, as it has often been with me, or it could be age, religion, race, differences in opinion, differences in friends or family lifestyle, flaws in personality...anything.
But with the right person, it is always worth it to take that risk. The effort and the work that it takes to surpass all these problems can only deepen the bond between the two individuals. It makes the moments together all the more sweet and blissful, because it is deeply appreciated. If it was always easy, the love would not appear to be anything special...and, as mundane things often do, it would fade. It is the risk which makes it exciting, adventurous, intoxicating, and at the same time comfortable. It is a test, in order to ensure that the relationship is right...because if you aren't willing to fight for it, what's the point?
I suppose in all of this, my point is to take the risk. Don't turn down the opportunity for love or happiness because a roadblock stands in your way, in any form.
You may just find it was worth it.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Letting Go
In general, I am a very adaptive person.
It never takes me very long to adjust to a new situation or new place or new people. I've always launched myself into unfamiliar situations, however uncertain at first, and ended up being completely fine with it in the matter of a week or two. I remember the intense nerves that I felt the day before I left for college. My stomach was in knots and I kept uncontrollably feeling the urge to cry, thinking that I'd be far from my family and my room and everything I knew. But by the time that I got there, I felt completely comfortable and was excited by the new chapter in my life. I adjusted far faster than most.
And even in the loss of relationships, I've always adapted rapidly. It's not that I get over the person, or that I forget about them, but I become okay with the new situation quickly. I do not mourn, so much, the loss of a title.
However, I've often mourned the loss of a person. It's very hard for me to let go of someone who has been a big part of my life, in any fashion. With friendships, it's usually so gradual. You begin to drift apart as the years pass on, and before you know it, you rarely talk to the person and only speak to them on occasion, and the conversation is always so awkward and about big details. The earmarks of a truly close friendship is that you can talk about the most inane, minute aspects of your day, because they speak with you so often and already know the huge events. Once you become more like acquaintances, it is so uncomfortable and uneasy because you can no longer discuss those things.
The earth and the moon cannot talk about the trees and the people and the animals because they are so distant. They can only talk about land and ocean and turning.
Maybe a Great Wall here or there.
With friendships, sometimes its easier to let go because it's such a slow process. It is only so painful on reflection. It's always been difficult for me to let go of people after the break of a relationship, because it is a sudden and swift action. You often go from talking to the person every day, seeing them every free moment, to not having any contact with them at all. It's difficult for me to lose a person in that sense. There's still a part of me that wants to know about their life and what they are doing and how they are, in a purely platonic sense. Just to know that they are happy, and okay. It's why I struggle and try to stay friends with all of my exes, for the most part with success. We are by no means close, but on good and friendly terms.
Maybe this is a bad thing. Maybe there is something to be said about a complete break. It is less painful, in the long run, and better for future relationships. There is no one for a current boyfriend to feel jealous or worried about, how ever unnecessarily. The nature of my friend Steve's relationship with his exes reminds me of this.
But I've never been good with the loss of a person. And I think knowing that it would be wrong of me to say hello, or IM, or call, and ask how they are doing, would be too painful for me.
So I leave it as it is.
It never takes me very long to adjust to a new situation or new place or new people. I've always launched myself into unfamiliar situations, however uncertain at first, and ended up being completely fine with it in the matter of a week or two. I remember the intense nerves that I felt the day before I left for college. My stomach was in knots and I kept uncontrollably feeling the urge to cry, thinking that I'd be far from my family and my room and everything I knew. But by the time that I got there, I felt completely comfortable and was excited by the new chapter in my life. I adjusted far faster than most.
And even in the loss of relationships, I've always adapted rapidly. It's not that I get over the person, or that I forget about them, but I become okay with the new situation quickly. I do not mourn, so much, the loss of a title.
However, I've often mourned the loss of a person. It's very hard for me to let go of someone who has been a big part of my life, in any fashion. With friendships, it's usually so gradual. You begin to drift apart as the years pass on, and before you know it, you rarely talk to the person and only speak to them on occasion, and the conversation is always so awkward and about big details. The earmarks of a truly close friendship is that you can talk about the most inane, minute aspects of your day, because they speak with you so often and already know the huge events. Once you become more like acquaintances, it is so uncomfortable and uneasy because you can no longer discuss those things.
The earth and the moon cannot talk about the trees and the people and the animals because they are so distant. They can only talk about land and ocean and turning.
Maybe a Great Wall here or there.
With friendships, sometimes its easier to let go because it's such a slow process. It is only so painful on reflection. It's always been difficult for me to let go of people after the break of a relationship, because it is a sudden and swift action. You often go from talking to the person every day, seeing them every free moment, to not having any contact with them at all. It's difficult for me to lose a person in that sense. There's still a part of me that wants to know about their life and what they are doing and how they are, in a purely platonic sense. Just to know that they are happy, and okay. It's why I struggle and try to stay friends with all of my exes, for the most part with success. We are by no means close, but on good and friendly terms.
Maybe this is a bad thing. Maybe there is something to be said about a complete break. It is less painful, in the long run, and better for future relationships. There is no one for a current boyfriend to feel jealous or worried about, how ever unnecessarily. The nature of my friend Steve's relationship with his exes reminds me of this.
But I've never been good with the loss of a person. And I think knowing that it would be wrong of me to say hello, or IM, or call, and ask how they are doing, would be too painful for me.
So I leave it as it is.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Trials Of Being An Artist
The thing about being a creative person is that sometimes it's very easy to get lost and caught up in your own art. This particularly comes to mind in light of the recent death of Heath Ledger. Though it's yet undetermined as to why he passed away, interviews from the last few weeks describe the insomnia and inner turmoil that came from playing the twisted, dark role of the Joker. He discusses how getting in to the mind of such a twisted, homicidal, ruthless killer was highly disturbing to him and ended up plaguing his mind and preventing him from being able to sleep. He spent several weeks living alone in a New York city hotel room in order to get in the role, using such influences as the eventually-demented Sid Vicious to get into the character. It was a difficult and challenging role to play. Whether or not this factored into his early death, it's difficult to say.
And then somehow this reminded me of an interview with Sting, the vocalist behind The Police. In his earlier years, he tried his hand at acting, and landed himself with mostly evil characters. (I was interested to discover, also, that he was the inspiration behind one of my favorite comic book characters, John Constantine.) In his Behind the Music, he discussed the fact that he played so many sinister characters that he eventually started to think of himself as the antichrist. His own acting, the roles that he was hired to play, crept into his head and began to alter the very way he perceived himself. It's hard, now, so many years later, to think of Sting as evil - much less the antichrist. But sometimes, that's what art does to you.
And then that makes me think of painters, and musicians, and writers, and how so many of them are driven to insanity or have a very distorted perception of the world. People like Vincent Van Gogh, who cut off his own ear, or Kurt Cobain, who took his own life. I think putting yourself into your own art and your own creations can cause you to lose yourself in it...for better, or often, for worse. The art that you create is a part of you, and it consumes you...particularly if you've driven yourself to sing, paint, or write about the more dark aspects of living.
It makes me wonder about my own art...my writing, in particular. Depression, clinically, runs deep in my family, and there was a time when I was younger and more vulnerable that I could definitely feel that. I remember, during those years, that my characters became more real to me than the people around me were. They seemed alive, with their own personalities and distinct characteristics, and writing them wasn't really like coming up with anything new...I was just recording what logically they would say, do, or how they would act. The characters that I, myself, had breathed into life had crept inside of my mind. Taken resident and consumed me. Had my story been one of tragedy, I could see how that would have begun to impact my moods and my behavior. Perhaps I would have started to see the world as a dark and tragic place, and likewise been affected.
And even now, whatever I am working on seems to mold my perceptions. I have more recently been focusing on short stories, so the effect is less drastic, but I can feel it none the less. While writing a tragic tale of love and loss ("Storytelling") I can almost feel the heartache and hopelessness of my hero. I am elated by the triumph of my victors ("The Toymaker") and depressed by the pain of my tragic characters ("The Saddest Tree"). It impacts how I see and feel about the world, in small, easy to handle doses. I imagine that upon writing something of great length, as I eventually intend to do, the effect will be more drastic.
It is so easy to lose yourself in art. So easy to let what you create crawl under your skin and take hold. Perhaps that is what makes a great artist...one who gives themselves, as a devotion, completely to their trade. That offers themselves to the paint and canvas, the words upon a page, the lyrics in a song or their portrayal of a character, like a candlelight vigil to a God.
Still, those who wish to be artists must be aware that art should be handled with care.
And then somehow this reminded me of an interview with Sting, the vocalist behind The Police. In his earlier years, he tried his hand at acting, and landed himself with mostly evil characters. (I was interested to discover, also, that he was the inspiration behind one of my favorite comic book characters, John Constantine.) In his Behind the Music, he discussed the fact that he played so many sinister characters that he eventually started to think of himself as the antichrist. His own acting, the roles that he was hired to play, crept into his head and began to alter the very way he perceived himself. It's hard, now, so many years later, to think of Sting as evil - much less the antichrist. But sometimes, that's what art does to you.
And then that makes me think of painters, and musicians, and writers, and how so many of them are driven to insanity or have a very distorted perception of the world. People like Vincent Van Gogh, who cut off his own ear, or Kurt Cobain, who took his own life. I think putting yourself into your own art and your own creations can cause you to lose yourself in it...for better, or often, for worse. The art that you create is a part of you, and it consumes you...particularly if you've driven yourself to sing, paint, or write about the more dark aspects of living.
It makes me wonder about my own art...my writing, in particular. Depression, clinically, runs deep in my family, and there was a time when I was younger and more vulnerable that I could definitely feel that. I remember, during those years, that my characters became more real to me than the people around me were. They seemed alive, with their own personalities and distinct characteristics, and writing them wasn't really like coming up with anything new...I was just recording what logically they would say, do, or how they would act. The characters that I, myself, had breathed into life had crept inside of my mind. Taken resident and consumed me. Had my story been one of tragedy, I could see how that would have begun to impact my moods and my behavior. Perhaps I would have started to see the world as a dark and tragic place, and likewise been affected.
And even now, whatever I am working on seems to mold my perceptions. I have more recently been focusing on short stories, so the effect is less drastic, but I can feel it none the less. While writing a tragic tale of love and loss ("Storytelling") I can almost feel the heartache and hopelessness of my hero. I am elated by the triumph of my victors ("The Toymaker") and depressed by the pain of my tragic characters ("The Saddest Tree"). It impacts how I see and feel about the world, in small, easy to handle doses. I imagine that upon writing something of great length, as I eventually intend to do, the effect will be more drastic.
It is so easy to lose yourself in art. So easy to let what you create crawl under your skin and take hold. Perhaps that is what makes a great artist...one who gives themselves, as a devotion, completely to their trade. That offers themselves to the paint and canvas, the words upon a page, the lyrics in a song or their portrayal of a character, like a candlelight vigil to a God.
Still, those who wish to be artists must be aware that art should be handled with care.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Tattoos and Me
I've always wanted to get a tattoo, pretty much since I was old enough to have it be a real possibility. I'm one of those people who loves any manner of self-expression, and I've always been fond of giving myself "personal symbols"...especially (as is pretty obvious) the Phoenix. I've been obsessed with the phoenix imagery since somewhere in middle (that's my best estimate...I don't actually remember. It was a long time ago), and so it was always pretty clear what my tattoo should be. A phoenix, on my left shoulder blade.
I designed the actual tattoo one day in physics class on the margins of my notes. It came out perfectly, exactly as I wanted it, so I clipped it out and carried it around with me in my little black Moleskine notebook for about 3 years. By the time I was 22, it was time to finally get it done. Not wanting to go with anyone who wasn't going to be a permanent part of my life, I went with my best friend and mentor Steve to the same person he had gotten his tattoo from...this guy named Matt, who had designed and inked a wolf on his bicep. The morning before I actually went in to have it done, I panicked. Tried to think of every way to get out of it. Wanted to back out.
But knew I'd regret it if I didn't go through with it. Plus, I believe life is about experiences. Getting a tattoo was an experience I wanted to have.
It didn't hurt that much...it was more like being scratched with a needle. And it only took about an hour. Only near the end was I starting to be like, "Dear God, finish already!" It came out great...the artist did an amazing job with shading, and I was really pleased. I never felt like it was something new really...just that it was something that was always supposed to be there, and now it was.
People say that tattoos are addictive, and I said, "No way, I'm only getting one, I'm finished."
Now, four months after my first one, I kinda want another. Not any time soon, but I keep thinking about where I would get it and what I would want. The thing I keep coming back to now is a Tornado (based on the fact that it is a new "personal symbol") or cross made of intertwined barbed wire (something seen in a dream), maybe on my ankle or hip. It's something I'd think about a lot more before doing it.
But I also now love seeing people's tattoos, and hearing the story behind them. It's fascinating to see what drove them to get a certain image permanently placed on their bodies. For some, it was just an impulse, or a random decision. For others, it's something extremely meaningful and well thought through.
So I know there's this stigma against them, sometimes, and always the argument, "Well what if you regret it?" "What's it going to look like 20 years from now?" Etc.
But I personally think there's nothing wrong with any form of self-expression, and in a way, tattoos are one of the deepest forms of doing that. You are choosing a symbol for life. It's like marriage to an idea or an image. It will always be with you.
So if you pick the right thing, it can be really beautiful.
To me, mine is.
Life and Writing
Being a writer, inherently, gives you a very unique outlook on life. On second thought, perhaps it goes deeper than just being a writer. Any sort of story-teller, really, no matter what the medium, looks at the world a little bit differently than most. More specifically, we have a very skewed perception of our own lives.
When things happen to us, we look at it in terms of the overall picture and how the event plays into the story of our life. We have the capacity for assigning deeper meanings and complex metaphors to even the most seemingly simple occurrences and coincidences. We remember certain important conversations with people as little bits of dialogue, and store them away in our memories for later use. Dreams are really tangible ideas that can be turned into elements of stories. We view our lives as one big novel - and dramaticize the good, the bad, and the ugly as necessary.
For me, this has turned into a good thing. It may not be the same for other people, who might view their grand novel as a tragedy and act accordingly. I, on the other hand, have chosen to view my life's novel as a interesting adventure/drama...this may be due to my particular penchant for activities and people that are "interesting", my incredible intolerance to boredom, and my desire to always try new things (even if only once). My personal motto is, perhaps, "Life should always be interesting", and I've often been heard saying that my goal in life is to have an interesting story to tell when I'm dead and talking to other people up in heaven.
I never wanted to sit at a big table with family, friends, strangers, historical figures, celebrities...have them ask me what I did in my life...and only be able to say, "Um...well I was born...went to school...worked...got married...had kids...then died."
No, I wanted to have a lot more to say than that.
So all of this goes back to my outlook in life. Because I've seen my life as this great adventure/drama novel, all of the mistakes that I've made...all of the minor, bad things that happened...all of the fights and tiny dramas...anything that would be a regret...are all okay with me, because even though they were bad at the time, they make my story that much more interesting. It adds the downs to the tale, which make the ups all the more triumphant. I'm able to look at the negative things that have happened in life in a positive manner. All because of that motto. "Life should always be interesting."
I'm not really sure if that's necessarily a good thing. I don't think I was always this way, but I think it's developed with my age and also with my growth as a writer. Maybe it gives me a more reckless outlook towards the things that I do (even though I've always been adventurous within reason...sky diving and other insane things are yet to be checked off my to-do list). Maybe it makes me a little bit restless and impatient for the slow and mundane. It certainly makes it so that certain people can't keep up with me, or maybe don't want to, or see me as too impulsive and fiery.
But I don't think I'd want to be any other way. Because being a writer, and seeing my life as this great novel, has made it so that I'm inherently happy. So as for most of the consequences, they are worth it in the end.
When things happen to us, we look at it in terms of the overall picture and how the event plays into the story of our life. We have the capacity for assigning deeper meanings and complex metaphors to even the most seemingly simple occurrences and coincidences. We remember certain important conversations with people as little bits of dialogue, and store them away in our memories for later use. Dreams are really tangible ideas that can be turned into elements of stories. We view our lives as one big novel - and dramaticize the good, the bad, and the ugly as necessary.
For me, this has turned into a good thing. It may not be the same for other people, who might view their grand novel as a tragedy and act accordingly. I, on the other hand, have chosen to view my life's novel as a interesting adventure/drama...this may be due to my particular penchant for activities and people that are "interesting", my incredible intolerance to boredom, and my desire to always try new things (even if only once). My personal motto is, perhaps, "Life should always be interesting", and I've often been heard saying that my goal in life is to have an interesting story to tell when I'm dead and talking to other people up in heaven.
I never wanted to sit at a big table with family, friends, strangers, historical figures, celebrities...have them ask me what I did in my life...and only be able to say, "Um...well I was born...went to school...worked...got married...had kids...then died."
No, I wanted to have a lot more to say than that.
So all of this goes back to my outlook in life. Because I've seen my life as this great adventure/drama novel, all of the mistakes that I've made...all of the minor, bad things that happened...all of the fights and tiny dramas...anything that would be a regret...are all okay with me, because even though they were bad at the time, they make my story that much more interesting. It adds the downs to the tale, which make the ups all the more triumphant. I'm able to look at the negative things that have happened in life in a positive manner. All because of that motto. "Life should always be interesting."
I'm not really sure if that's necessarily a good thing. I don't think I was always this way, but I think it's developed with my age and also with my growth as a writer. Maybe it gives me a more reckless outlook towards the things that I do (even though I've always been adventurous within reason...sky diving and other insane things are yet to be checked off my to-do list). Maybe it makes me a little bit restless and impatient for the slow and mundane. It certainly makes it so that certain people can't keep up with me, or maybe don't want to, or see me as too impulsive and fiery.
But I don't think I'd want to be any other way. Because being a writer, and seeing my life as this great novel, has made it so that I'm inherently happy. So as for most of the consequences, they are worth it in the end.
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