Why is it important for me to project the tiny light of my mind out into your life? It would be far easier to mark up my journal with misspelled ink stain and blue verbage . I would not feel constantly compelled to check my stats or to hope for your love. But if I didn’t do this, didn’t reach digital fingers out towards you, there would be no way for us to talk on this level. I wouldn’t be able to look back on myself with the clarity that only time and distance provides. And most importantly, there would be no spy glass over my heart. And I need that. I need to look in. I need you to look in.
It is common to find me standing on the podium of untethered selfishness. I write this in reference to my stance on family. For many reasons, some relevant, most imagined, I have always functioned like a person with no natural family. In my mind there is no blood waiting to catch my fall. So I had better not fall. The ledge, however thrilling, is just too dangerous for me. In the past I have lept, landing firmly on safe ground or terribly, on my back, on a granite slap. There is nothing unique about my struggle. I want love. Sometimes I get it, sometimes I don’t. As I age the wanting becomes just as interesting as the getting/not getting. What used to tear me up now brings a strange kind of knowledge. You will hear the same silly saying whenever love fails. “They are doing the best they can.” I have said this myself. I don’t believe it. It makes literally no sense. Doing the best you can means not intentionally damaging someone. It means being fair and using your heart, not your ego to dictate your actions. The wisdom I earn from the giving and receiving of pain is this…we are only as good as the love we give. And if ones heart is eroded with regret and fear, the ability to be bigger than your demons is nearly and tragically impossible. Now, stay with me here, I have a point, I promise.
I held a baby. The child of my soul sister. This woman has been a part of every great moment in my life. If not physically, then mentally. She has broken my heart and healed every wound that life has seen fit to give me. When we fight I don’t sleep. No matter how many years flow between us we remain insanely too real with each other. There is no artifice. And she made a baby. Being so far away made me think that this would be like any other baby. Cute, fussy, and thank god I don’t have one. And then someone shoots an arrow through your heart. And you are made inhuman with a love so all consuming that there is no fire hot enough to burn it out of you. Your cells meld together to become one giant heart beat that threatens to crush every iota of hate and loneliness in your soul. And you let them, you watch in amazement as they roust the devils from your head and send them screaming out the back door. I am forever altered by this. I, thus far, have known no greater love.
Rendered blind and dumb by love is a new feeling. Wording my way around hurt and hope is my specialty. I can strike the tallest of men down with my mouth. I can talk myself into and out of anything. I can lie. And I do. I told myself that I didn’t need a family, at least not in the commonly known sense. I erected a stone wall around the idea of home and left it by the sea. I only visit when I require pain. And yet if finds me here, now. Unbeknownst to me a family was building itself in my life. Despite my better efforts, home came to me. Just like the surprise I felt at meeting and instantly loving this little creature, I am shocked by how beautifully my house has designed itself.
And now I have the greatest knowledge of all. Nothing matters in this life aside from being front and center to all of the things that come your way. The shit, the joy, the love, the pain, they all bind us to the dream of who we hope to be. The demons guide us just as fundamentally as the angels do. I hope to be the bearer of love, the drinker of wine, the writer of words, the dancer with the lightest of feet, and the keeper of this love so absolute that time or distance will never come close to touching it. There is nothing perfect about how we came to be and I forgive myself for thinking it should have been. Welcome to the world Oliver and welcome back Josi.