March 30, 2010 § 1 Comment
You confuse me. In a good way. In the best way possible.
I just don’t know how a person could be so good. How a person could radiate the way you do. How someone could be as kind and giving like you are. How someone could be so considerate when no one asked you to be. How a man could know just where to go next. How a man could be everything that you’re made of. You just amaze me.
It may have taken a while for you to make me fall, but fall I did. And despite all the chasing, I don’t know how I got you. I don’t know what caught your eye, but I’m thankful I had it. I don’t know how to keep you in love with me, but I can tell you that I will try. Because you’re everything I want. Because I’ve never known any one quite as right as you.
Because you are perfect.
March 28, 2010 § 1 Comment
I know what I want. I won’t pretend like I’ve got my career figured out, but I do know what certain parts of my life equation can be.
For one, I want to always write. I realize that I can always write. It’s something that has been mine since forever, and I will never lose my passion for it. I can pen my thoughts and hope someone listens, but I will never stop — no matter what I end up doing in life. And whether I quit my day job as a writer, my quill will still be the lens by which I view the world for all my time.
Secondly, I am going to heal people. I say this with a new sense of vigor and authority, because I am on the road now. I may have taken just a tiny first step in a long and winding path, but that first step is momentous. That first step is an act of true boldness and defiance of the status quo. And for the first time in a long time, I am nothing close to complacent; I am dynamic.
Until now, my dreams were just dreams; in this moment, they are also goals. They are tangible — it’s like, if I could reach far enough, I could touch these dreams. They are mine to mold, and shape and reshape again. And, in the beauty of all that is going to happen, the most satisfying part of all this right now is that I’m doing something about those dreams.
I am building my own world now, and I am in love with the future.
March 14, 2010 § Leave a comment
There is nothing great about limbo.
I am in between worlds right now, struggling to get out of one and into another, and I can’t seem to find a place for myself to rest peacefully in purgatory. So, I do all that I can do: wait.
I know a lot of you know what this feels like. So many of us are in a dynamic time of our lives. A time when we question where we are and a time when we forge paths for our tomorrows. But once we do all we can to prepare the road for walking, we’ve got to wait until we hear that fateful decision. On a piece of paper. In the mail. Which is slow.
It’s enough to go insane. Thankfully, I’ve been spending most of this month away from home because my mother is in the Philippines. While I miss my mother terribly, it’s worked out pretty well. Staying in New York all month has forced me to keep busy and to stay away from constantly checking my mailbox for answers, for relief, for the green light on all the plans I’ve thought up.
Until then, this waiting period seems so stagnant, and I loathe that feeling. It’s as if I’m at the edge of a precipice, and I’ve got my parachute ready to go. I’m basically leaning over the cliff, ready to fly, but I’ve got a cord stuck on something behind me. Well, that’s exactly it I guess. I’m stuck on something that I’ve already moved beyond, and I’m just waiting for the right time to press forward and free myself.
All the while, the complacency feels like betrayal to me. It feels wrong. It feels dirty. It’s like walking through mud or seeing with dirty eyeglasses. It’s like stifling heat. It’s uncomfortable for me, but I just have to wait out the pain. Do the best that I can in purgatory. And work hard to make myself worthy of leaving it.
Because change is coming.
March 12, 2010 § Leave a comment
Don’t worry; I won’t be expounding on a complex treatise on Jennifer Lopez, kickboxing, and the ills of domestic abuse.
This is about ambition and character. The other day, I was freaking out about whether ‘good enough’ was ever going to be good enough. And, like magic, at work, John C. Bogle’s book Enough. was dropped into my lap. Though it may seem boring to some — in short, it’s about the investment world and the excesses of the industry — it looks like it could be a very interesting read for any ambitious person who is looking for balance in his or her life.
From just a glance, it can be very business-based at times, but it is both intuitive and all-encompassing. The book is about more than being successful in your careers and knowing the limits of greed and overzealous ambition; it’s about being better “members of our families, our professions, and our communities.” It’s very utilitarian in a sense, and it might put some of my goals in perspective. Sounds like I might want to read more about being “enough” and knowing what is “enough.”
Thought I’d share because it might be interesting to those of you who haven’t already heard about it.
March 10, 2010 § 3 Comments
Poema XX by Pablo Neruda
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: “La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.”
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
¡Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos!
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
¡Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla!
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Yo no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise..
Mi voz buscaba al viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
March 8, 2010 § Leave a comment
“The force of his mind overcame his every impediment.”
— Thomas Macaulay’s essay on Samuel Johnson.
March 4, 2010 § Leave a comment
This is something I wrote about two years ago, during a time of transition, between loves, between futures. I was in the middle of a mad meditation on interactions between fate, choice, partnership, adventure, ambition, curiosity, and movement. This diary entry is pretty all over the place, but read it how I would: without pause, without hesitation, without a moment to spare for oxygen.
Back then, I wanted to share this with someone — so I’m going to now that I have a place to do so. I’ve kept a private journal for more than a decade now, for as long as I’ve had thoughts of my own, and it’s always been an amazing gift for me to be able to look back on the written me, on how I’ve changed since then — or how I haven’t — and to see a snapshot of my mind in a moment far, far gone.
“I just want to move. Move so fast that you could never really see me or have me because, as quickly as I move near you, I’m already somewhere else. You can only hope to meet me at another point in my road, that somehow we’d cross paths, and you’d like to – over and over again. That’s what it is to be with me or around me or close to me. To know me. To call me a friend. It’s a constant crossing of paths, a meeting point of personal trajectories, gathering and parting, at the will of both choice and serendipity.
And I want you to want to be part of my trajectory. I want to be your choice every day. I want you to want to be every notch in my belt – the first one when I’m at my fattest, and the last one when I push so hard that I forget to eat and I skip that drink, and I grow thin because when I’m so full of energy like this, I don’t need much more than more. Because this need to run isn’t basic, and it’s only inside those who want more.
I want you to want to run as fast as I do, and I want you to move along with me, cross me, circle me, and catch me when you can. I just want to move. I want to feel the earth passing below me, and to feel my soles meet new surfaces and textures of ground – dirt and marble and wood and concrete – new feelings introduced with every step, skip, leap, and fall.
I need to move. I sit in a grey cubicle, and I hum the days through. My fingers stretch, and I turn to pictures of my loved ones around me – stills of life in its greatest moments captured in station, and they stir me. I’m so anxious for life. I follow the hands of the clock as they inch away to a happier minute. I wait for that minute to happen, and I’ve been waiting for too long. I’m tired of waiting. Waiting for life. As my job buries my interests, and I spend everything I earn, and my hair reaches the floor, I lie in wait for life to happen to me.
The waiting happens unconsciously, but I guess that’s why I had the whole thing wrong. I’m not living at all sometimes. If I’m not moving – whether forward or backward – then what can I ever find? How will we ever cross? If I’m not moving, I miss everything along the route to somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. So, let’s travel.
I want to move because, every time I do, I know something I didn’t before. Every time I reach out, I feel more. Every time I step forward, I’m a little closer to the answers I’ve been searching for. Every inch is a millisecond less to the moment our paths cross again, and maybe you’ll hold me when we meet. And we’ll be closer when we meet. And we’ll fall harder when we meet, every time we meet. And, even when we part, it just means that we’re that much closer to the next time we’ll be together.
The motions. They’re all beautiful.
I’m going to take things with me. Every smell, touch, sound. Every word uttered or shouted. Every memory and every lesson. All the faces, and the hands who held me. The hands I held. The songs and the humanity and the breaking of hearts. I’m going to take all the loves and the aching. I’m going to take it all with me, and it all will build upon the other as I shift and sway and run and saunter and strut and shake and walk and crawl because this all gets me a little closer.”