I found a feline on the docks,
Shredding flesh from bone,
Three scaly creatures cast aside,
From the faint laughter of fishermen,
How fast a mighty cat
Grows tired…
Purring with simple satiation,
The Safari to the Sea.
A King to a Scavenger.
Licking his teeth clean
Of bloodied discarded scraps.
One night I met the ghost of a child,
Whose spectral smile and snow kissed skin glowed in winter moonlight.
Not waiting, or spying. Not plotting or conniving.
He stood still, beneath black starlight.
All I could do was return to my bed, his image burned in my mind.
I tried to avoid forgotten wants, letting my thoughts unwind.
It can’t be true, but I read a tale,
Whose ending shakes me still.
A time. An hour.
That strikes at 12.
And spills across the windowsill.
A time when spooky thoughts surface,
But ghosts and goblins are no more.
All that’s left are tattered dreams,
The ones clawing at your door.
I itch to grip her wrists, delicate like rose stems.
I crave to pin her down, so she’ll know she’s mine.
There is a lustiness to ambition. An aphrodisiac to power.
It hides behind family friendly gatherings.
It’s masked in the monotony of everyday routine.
But, deep down, every man wants to use her, without a care.
And have her love you for it.
Autumn trees surround the empty house, miles from downtown.
A silky saxophone note fills the silence.
We sway.
I lose all sense of time, of any moment but this one.
The faint taste of champaign, lingering on a kiss.
The flush of warmth, as it pumps through my body.
Until I can’t tell one from another.
Love from want. Desire from intoxication.
I just am. She just is.
As the sun sets, we become the same.
– SB
There is a clock whose silent staccato whispers with each footstep.
There is a house from which you’ve journeyed, hunting a new sunrise.
Each day searching for what made sense the day before.
Each moment craving to return to the warmth of home.
The crackle of firewood. A hot cup of coco. Cozy blankets that cast away the cold.
Murmured conversation and the clinking of dinner plates.
The times you’ve felt home are rare, like a Crimson Rosella, fluttering about in the wild.
I’ve found it in a person before.
I’ve lost it too.
Truth be told, I haven’t learned much from my footsteps on this planet.
But, I have come to know one thing.
It’s not about the future.
It’s about where you are.
Don’t hike mountains, in the hopes of a better sunrise.
Hold fast to those ones around you,
The ones who make you feel at home.
i was shaken away the other day
by a wicked darkness
there in my thoughts lingered the ghost of fractured connections
clutching to the sweet scent of perfume
as the sun rose, flooding the room with golden petals
i wondered if i would ever be able to let go of all that I have lost.
There is something about friends that makes life somehow sweeter. More human, in a way. There are the rich earthy undertones of deep meaning. It makes you feel like your life is worth living.
Just thinking about the memories I’ve made with some of them make me feel warm, like I’m wrapped up in a fluffy, comfortable fur blanket.
There is a feeling of familiarity in the memories. Run your hands across it, and it feels like your life. It really happened to you. And, if you could, you’d love to take a trip in time back to it.
When you think back on the best times in your life, you smile, remembering the people in it. The way you felt bonded. The fun and crazy times you had.
The richness of your life is like continuous stream of people, flowing in and out. The quality people who you are able to collect and keep with you are those very familiar faces impressed in your mind.
The more that you control the flow of this stream, the happier you will become. The less you care to, the more it will grow dirty and murky, the color of stagnant, swamp waters.
When you’re alone all the time, you become restless, depressed, anxious, and mentally cloudy. Your anxiety takes over.
The people in your life hold you up. They make you a better person. A more attractive person. One who’s filled with happiness and confidence.
Their reputation, kindness, and authenticity enhances yours.
When you’re surrounded, they bring out the best of you. The most powerful version of who you are.
Our friends vouch for us. They remind us of who we are. They keep us grounded, while also loving us completely.
A true friend is rare, and should always be kept until the grave.
Your life is just a groove in this reality. The groove where you choose to spend the most time.
You could stuff a suitcase, catch a late night flight to the other side of this world, and wake up in a new country. The second that the plane touched the ground, you would feel different.
I know, because I’ve done it. I’ve traveled the world. One day, you find yourself in the middle of a night market in Chiang Mai, Thailand, holding the hand of a pretty girl, shopping for exotic art, the kind that you’ve never ever seen before.
You realize in that moment, that you could have a life, a different kind of life, with this person there. You could have a wife, kids, a house, the whole nine yards. There’s nothing that’s stopping you.
Technically, it is so easy to move from one culture to another. You just have to get on a plane. Find a new job. And be willing to give up most of American culture.
You will feel different living in another country. As though you’re not truly at home.
There’s a foreign feel to the air, even though you’re on the same planet.
There’s something they don’t tell you when you’re a kid. There’s a secret that no one shares. When you go around the world, you are treated differently. For the first time in your life, you step out of your culture. You begin to see that there are other ways of living.
Not everyone thinks the same or comes to the same conclusions about what’s most important. Very much, we are the product of the cultural norms of our society.
What if your personality would fit better in a different culture? One with a home-base that’s located on another part of the globe.
It feels forbidden to want to live somewhere other than your home country. But, shouldn’t you go where you’re treated best? Where you fit in most?
When you do take the risk to spend real time somewhere that’s not your home country, you suddenly understand the consequences of living in a new place.
It’s your relationships. The ones back home. It’s your understanding of what’s going on in your home country. The little shows and movies that you’re missing out on. Your roots wilt. You sacrifice your memories.
You certainly learn more about yourself, but you also loosen the ties with friends and family. The ones who your best memories are with.
I now understand what a life is.
A life is simply a reflection of how you spend your time.
You could walk a lush green path that leads you towards marriage.
You could decide to climb the mountains of ambition, and forego ever having your own children.
You could have all of your social ties in one city, state, or country.
The longer you stay in a place, the more grooves that you make there.
The memories, scenery, and way of life becomes carved into your mind. When other people think back to this time, they remember you.
All that makes is up a life is how you choose to spend time.
Who do you spend it with? What do you spend it thinking about? How do you spend it feeling?
That’s what it comes down to.
You decide where you FEEL best, and who with.
It seems that everyone is searching for love, waiting for it, falling into it, and falling out of it these days.
Wedding and baby photos fly by as you scroll through your Facebook feed. The kind of events that define a life, whether for good or for bad.
Can you count the times that you said I love you, and didn’t really mean it? You can alway tell. There’s that feeling. It feels… like a lie. It makes you uncomfortable to say it.
The fairy tales told us that love is eternal. That when we’re in love, that it’s going to last forever. That’s what marriage is supposed to be, isn’t it?
Don’t mind all of the divorces and cheating that we’ll neatly sweep under the rug. Don’t mind all of those lies.
Love is not eternal. And neither is friendship.
When it comes to momentary connections with other human, nothing is.
A person is a changing, flowing state of emotions, thoughts, urges, and desires. An ever shifting landscape of values and principles.
You can fall into love. You can fall out of it. The only difference is your focus. What your mind is focused on.
Are you hooked on the way he makes you feel wanted, or appreciating his kind and caring nature?
Do you zero in on his flaws, or let yourself accept them?
Are you chasing love out of fear?
Love is a state that you feel. It’s how you feel about your life, and the people in it. It can be comfortably addictive.
Once you’ve felt the intimacy of a homey connection, you’ll crave it on every cold day.
Like a warm soup, it nourishes your soul and warms your bones.
People are fluid creatures. One day, what you most loved in her may not be as prominent.
Maybe they’re no longer full of energy, because they’re tired from their long work hours. Maybe they don’t make you feel excited anymore, because they don’t feel excited when with you.
True love is about being able to weather the good and the bad. To always be able to see kindness in another.
No matter what happens, to not be willing to stoop so low as to hurl insults, daggers, and spears.
It’s a loyalty to the fact that even when you’re not feeling love towards her, you will still make the effort to see her best qualities.
You are deluding yourself, because you know that feeling will come back. That feeling of being in love.
Love is not forever. It’s not easy. It takes work. It’s a commitment.
You have to be with someone who, even on the worst days, you can feel like it’s worth it. This journey that you’re on.
Basically,
She has to be hot enough to put up with.
Five years ago, Darcy had a different name. A name that made her feel like a completely different person. She shuttered a little, thinking back to the hateful words that her father tossed her way, stretched in ugly slurs from his drunken mouth.
“Darcy, you’re just like your mother!” he yelled, hurling the cap of his Heineken bottle right at her head. “You better straighten up and act right, or you’re going to turn out to be a bitch just like her.”
The b-word hit her face like splash of ice cold water. Every time she heard it, she felt paralyzed, caught somewhere between hurt, fear, and anger as though she was facing down a mindless ravaging wild bear, that would sink its claws into anything and everything in its path.
Part of her wanted to shout back and call him every unspeakable word ever uttered in the English language. To hell with the consequences. Who cared if he slapped her right across the face, leaving a welt that would take weeks to heal? She could come up with another excuse to tell her friends. She had a Rolodex of them by now.
“I fell down when carrying packages down the stairs”
“You wouldn’t believe it, my nephew threw his toy right at my head!”
Anything that would deflect attention and make them forget. Whatever would make the prying stop. She’d come up with stories many times before. It would be no different.
Even though her life was completely different now, Darcy still felt the lingering ghost of her father haunting every step she made. After his funeral, Darcy changed her name to begin anew. She never wanted another man to call her by that name. Not ever.
“It was an extremely toxic family relationship,” her therapist had said.
Enmeshment. That’s what they call it. She had replaced her mother’s role in his life, and along with it, shouldered the immense sack of burdens that she dealt with every single day. It was too much for any young woman to endure, especially one balancing, work, school, Sunday school services, and all of the house’s errands and chores.
Darcy knew that things were different. That she was different. Still, she couldn’t help nervously touching her face as she packed her backpack. She stuffed her toiletries into a plastic baggy and then scrunched them down into the bag so she could fit an extra pair of trousers.
Her and Nick were going away for a whole week, the longest trip that they’d ever taken together. It was his idea, as a way to destress and decompress. It will help you forget everything that’s been happening, he said. It will just be us. Alone. With peace and tranquility in Upstate New York.
They were headed to a small town near Hunter Mountain, and from there, a couple of miles north to a small cabin that he had rented for five whole days. It was every girl’s fantasy on Instagram. To take cute photos and sip hot coco, while snowfall dances outside. So remote that you won’t even get a hint of a cell signal. No pesky work emails. No need to keep in touch with everyone, even if you wanted to.
The winters in New York City are wicked and cruel. They blow in through the city, pouring through the streets like an angry river of cool air. Darkness blankets the horizon starting at half past four, and before you know it, you’re walking home in Bushwick, Brooklyn and it feels like it’s midnight.
Yes, why not get away? Darcy thought to herself. This was the real test of the relationship. Would they actually be able to stand each other for that long. She laughed to herself thinking about the next morning’s news headlines.
“Local couple strangles one another during their first vacation.”
“Couples beware: trips longer than a few days WILL cause breakups.”
“Attention all couples. Local love birds stab themselves after a failed week vacation.”
Darcy was probably just getting herself up into a fret again. Thinking about the worst possible outcomes. Of course, she loved Nick and couldn’t wait to spend some quality time with him. Nick was such a dear, filling her days with light and laughter. He would always have a plan, and she just had to step into it.
Her memories are colored with jazz nights and festivals under the summer sun. Evenings filled with witty banter, wine, and feasting over cheese platters in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. On the weekend, Nick would invite Darcy out on the town, and even if she said no, he would still try again the weekend after. It was nice to be wanted for once, and not find yourself discarded shortly after. Ignored like some servant that a man shouts at. To be used for your body. To be loved for how you make someone else feel about their rotten self.
Still, deep down, there was an uneasiness that she couldn’t exactly explain. Nick made her smile, but part of her wondered if there were other sides to him. Sides that she might not know about yet.
A tinny chime broke the silence in the apartment. Darcy looked down at her wide-screen iPhone and picked it up.
“Hi Jen…” she said, into the speaker. “How are you.”
Jen was Darcy’s best friend since college. They lived on the same floor sophomore year, and from holding each other’s hair back while puking on the toilet at multiple frat parties to throwing their caps in the air on graduation day, they had been through everything together.
Jen was the pretty type, with blonde hair, razor-sharp black eyeliner, long white fake nails, and a curvy body to match. But, she also had a rugged down to earth feel about her. The kind of girl that you can count on if you’re in a bind. She’ll stick up for you, even if you’re not around, and will go so far as to kick out the bar stool from underneath a boy if he’s mean to you. And, she won’t give no fucks about it. Ride or die. That’s what Darcy liked about her.
“MISSING YOU!” Jen yelled into the phone. “When do I get to see you again!?”
Jen had moved to Long Island with her fiancé, which seemed like a lightyears away from Darcy’s place in Washington Heights, a far up area of Manhattan. The little hole in the wall apartment that she never ever brought guests to. It was too small. Too dank, dark, and frankly sad. She much preferred to host dinner parties at Nick’s place in Upper West Side. There was more space, more open windows flooding the space with light, more of everything. Shiny, nice, modern kitchen appliances and a hardwood floor that wasn’t covered by dirty laundry or food and wine stains from late working nights spent typing away on her laptop.
“Soon, soon” said Darcy, laughing. “Maybe the weekend after next. I’m going Upstate with Nick, remember? “
“That’s right!” Jen grinned. “Make some babies together. I want to be an aunt by the end of the year.”
They call it baby rabies, and all of Darcy’s friends were getting it. She guessed that happened in your late 20s, when you’re through with your partying years. You’ve been on the Merri Go-Round a couple of times, and you gotta get off before you’re too damn old to pop out a couple of cute kiddies. It’s like musical chairs, but even though the music was slowing, Darcy was nowhere near that state of mind to sit down yet. In some ways, she felt like she was still discovering who she was, and more importantly, what she really wanted.
That’s what happens when you cram yourself down for so many years. You bottle up all those feelings, thoughts, and desires. It’s like you’re just trying to get by without stepping on any more toes. Only the path is so narrow. You find yourself walking on a tightrope over an endless ocean. There’s fog on both sides, and it’s nearly impossible to see. One false step, and you’ll plummet down to the icy depths below, forever forgotten as your screams are silenced by the water. There’s no rescuing a drowning man who’s all alone at sea.
“So, don’t hate me,” Jen continued, as she dug her hand into a bag of corn chips, “But I was at this party and mentioned your name to this art director. I know you don’t like to show your work, but this guy seemed legit and he was interested when I showed him your instagram.”
Darcy winced. She didn’t like it when other people talked up her work. It was nice, but it somehow felt invasive. As though someone was plugging their hand into your chest, ripping out your soul, and putting it on display for the world to see, judge, or laugh at.
“Thank you,” Darcy said politely. “I’ll see if he messages me.”
Jen could sometimes do that. Go over the boundaries a little bit. But Darcy knew that she only meant well.
“Great boo, I just wanna see you famous. You deserve it.”
It was evening by the time that Darcy finished talking with Jen and she finally had time to draw up a bath. Self-care. It was the new buzzword in every magazine, blog, and Instagram caption. You have to take care of yourself the way that no one else ever has. Take the time to allow yourself the luxurious experience of being alone.
Far up high on the 17th floor of a pre-war apartment building, there sat a lithe blond girl in her mid 20s, gently bathing her thighs with rose-colored shampoo in a pink sea made frothy with bath salts. The flicker of candles surrounding the tub cast shadows on the age-old walls, filling the entire room with an amber glow. The distant sounds of the uptown 1 train floated into the apartment, and blended with the sweet notes of a jazz melody.
Darcy made a ripple in the water with her finger and smiled to herself. She could feel the edibles that Nick had given her start to kick in. There was a lightness to the room, like she had cast away her old, tired preconceptions of what it means to be alive. The way that a child might sneak away from a boring adult dinner conversation to venture out into the yard and play with his toys. She felt herself starting to laugh at nothing in particular. A high pitched, feminine laugh that would make any man’s head turn, searching for its source.
I really, really want some chocolate, Darcy thought to herself, sensing her mouth start to water. She wanted to indulge in one of those rich dark chocolate bars that were all wrapped up in gold foil – pure decadence. She hadn’t really allowed herself to let go in a while. To really let go of the need to control. What was she so afraid of?
Darcy ran her delicate fingers down her smooth skin, stopping at her thigh. Deep down, she knew that any man would be lucky to have her. She’d known that ever since she turned 12 and started to get looks even when she’d just be walking down to rent a movie for the evening with her father. She felt every man’s eyes on her body, crawling, invading, desperately wanting to see more. And while it felt uncomfortable, there was some part of her that did like it. The power that she felt, knowing that every man wanted her no matter where she want. It’s a whole different kind of high.
Nick was her prince charming, but sometimes, Darcy thought of other men. Especially at times like this. There was a ruggedness that Nick just didn’t have. And that was okay, but it didn’t stop her from imagining a pair of rough hands grabbing a fist-full of her hair, holding her tiny body still while a dark faced squared-jawed animal took her from behind.
Darcy let out a moan, allowing her fingers to explore between her legs, while she imagined his powerful grip holding her down, as he took her in whatever way he wanted.
Yes. That’s what she wanted. To be taken, needed, wanted, desired, so much that a man can’t take it any more.
To be — the buzzing of her phone interrupted the fantasy. Darcy peered at the screen to find a new text message from an unknown number.
“Hey… miss me?”
She frowned, took the phone in one hand and typed away at the keyboard. “Who is this?”
A little green bubbled popped up. He must not have an iPhone. Otherwise, it would be blue and she’d able to see him typing.
“A boy. Are you still cute?”
Darcy couldn’t help herself from smiling. The night just got more interesting.
She typed back, “That depends… on who this is?”
A new text bubble slide down the screen “I’ll give you a hint. I know that you have a tattoo on your inner left hip ;-).”
Darcy’s jaw fell open. Who was this? It couldn’t have been… from last summer? She had gone through a bit of a wild dating phase after her last breakup. This was before she met Nick, of course. Nick could never know about this side of her. He would judge her, or worse, control her, the way her ex Tom did.
Sometimes, Darcy liked being a bit of a bitch. It made her do things that left her feeling a tinge of guilt. Setting up dates and ghosting on guys, just because she could. Making out with one guy at the bar, only to be pulled into the arms of another minutes later. But, who cares. Guys did the exact same thing. She was just playing by their rules. Men suck. Everyone knows it.
Darcy picked up the phone and typed away, her white long nails tapping on the screen like little spiders. She read the message over a few times before pressing send.
A few minutes later, a photo came back onto the screen. It was a tall man with slicked back hair, a square jaw, and dark eyes. He looked European, maybe Slavic. His wool overcoat was pulled tight against a set of massive biceps, leading to a barrel chest that was put on display by a silky black v-neck t-shirt. He looked like he was carved out of a grey granite stone that had been roughed up by years of weather and falling rocks.
Damien.
She couldn’t believe it.
The last time that they exchanged words, she was headed out of his room after an evening romp, and he was headed to Seattle for some kind of business. He wasn’t from New York. He was just passing through. They spent one night together, and she had to admit, it was very memorable. Probably one of the best dates she had been on in her entire life.
Just the thought of it made her hands tingle and she could feel herself getting wet between her thighs.
Darcy shook her head. She didn’t want to think about that anymore.
“I have a boyfriend now,” Darcy typed out. “We’re actually headed Upstate for the weekend. Sorry.”
A second later, a new text came in.
“Oh yeah? Where abouts?”
Without thinking, she replied and then blowed out the candles surrounding the tub.
“Catskills. Near this one town, I think it’s called Bearsville.”
With a brisk motion, she swung her legs out of the tub, toweled herself dry, and padded along the bathroom floor towards the bedroom. She turned off her lights and struggled to plug the phone into the wall charger.
Another text came in.
“Oh yeah? Maybe I’ll be there. You can sneak away from your boyfriend.”
Darcy smiled. “Haha – very funny mister,” she typed. “Goodnight.”
With that, she slide her phone to airplane mode and let her head sink into the pillow. Slowly, she let herself fall into gentle slumber. Time slipped by her awareness, like sand falling through her delicate fingers. And moments later, she was asleep.
In my travels around the globe, I came to realize that we are all seeking the exact same thing.
It doesn’t matter if you’re married or single. If you’re a man or a woman.
You could be rich or poor. Educated or brought up in the streets.
From walking through poverty-stricken towns in Cambodia to living in fancy hotel rooms in Madrid, Spain, I realized that there is exactly one thing that each of us is searching for.
In fact, we spend our entire lives looking for it.
Sometimes we find it.
Other times, we had it, only to lose it.
And for some of us, we never discover it at all.
Right now, I am walking through the streets of Bushwick, Brooklyn, outfitted in a jean jacket, denims, and fall biker boots.
I feel like I am in a different reality. That my journeys through Southeast Asia, Latin America, and Europe were a far-off dream. Something that I only wished had happened. I have woken up again to the dirty streets of New York.
I round the bend and peer through a window of V.I.M’s Clothing Store. There’s every manner of shoe, apparel, and outdoor accessory. G-Shock Watches, Dog Eared Caps, A Maze Fleece Kesa Scarf, and any other must-have item that you’d need to complete your image.
When I think about it, every corner of this city is filled with stores trying to convince you that you need something.
Buy this camo Junya Watanabe button down shirt. It will make you fit in with the other hipsters.
Get this new Panasonic flatscreen TV, you’ll be able to show it off to all of the neighbors.
Don’t forget to go Christmas shopping. And New Year’s is coming up too. After that, there’s Valentine’s Day.
Our life is spent walking past one big billboard with every little nook and cranny trying to steal our attention. Because without our attention, they will never get what they really want.
Sometimes, I think too much.
It makes me unsociable.
But, what are you supposed to do when you’re thinking on a whole different wavelength than the people in your life.
I walk towards the L Train and descend down through the rolling depths of the station. With a quick glance, I see that nearly everyone is wearing a mask.
Good, it’s a pandemic. People are finally taking this thing seriously. A couple of months ago, you would have thought I was crazy. I was the only one in the entire city who was wearing a mask. Well, not the only one, but you get my drift.
When your next door neighbor has the ability to leave you ravaged in the hospital with the mere puff of his breath, it’s time to think about your protection measures.
I have to admit though, there is a part of this whole pandemic that makes it feel like it’s fake. Some part of me thinks it’s not real. That I’ve been trapped in some kind of horrible alternative reality in some far off distant universe.
The consistent repetitive day to day makes me lose track of time. How could it already be a month since I moved back to the city?
The train pulls up and I climb on.
When you’re in one place for too long, you come to think that the entire world is the same. That everyone thinks the same, believes the same, and worships the same gods. I remember that lesson from growing up in a small town in near-rural Massachusetts.
The first time that you step out of your hometown, you come to realize that there are so many other ways to live. That the world is big and there’s so much… opportunity.
I feel a touch of sadness. My life is so different now than it was then. It’s black and white compared to even a year ago when I first left the city on my trip. I left the city and a part of my heart here.
Coming back was triggering. The experiences. The memories. All of these girls move in and out of my life, taking a part of me with them.
What they take isn’t your favorite novel from that time you forgot it on their couch, or your best watch, which you left on her nightstand when you angrily stormed out of her apartment.
They take your ability to recall moments.
You can no longer reminisce about that time in life you shared. It’s gone. You’ll never have that feeling again. The comfort that comes from shared history.
Each of us slowly ages through the passage of time, guided by the people in our life.
What happens if people keep passing out of your life?
I used to think that we are all seeking love. After all, that’s what the pop songs are about. That’s what the fabric of our culture is made up of. The movies we watch again, and again. The same age-old storylines that continue to be hits.
We spend most of our lives trying to find one person to love for the rest of our days. We put all of our time and energy into little versions of ourselves, hoping that one day they will love us back.
But you can’t live a life based on love. It’s just not enough. There’s more to life than just having experiences with other people.
What about the experiences that you have with yourself?
No, it’s not love.
The train is headed downtown, passing underneath skyscrapers, cafes, and what’s left of the restaurant scene in East Village. I transfer subway cars and am headed uptown to my friend in Upper West side. It’s suppose to be a beautiful day, and we’ve made plans to check out Central Park, like old times.
My friend Kelly is one of the few international friends that I have. We were ballroom dance partners in college, focusing on the Latin ones like Salsa, Rumba, and Tango. She gets along easily with just about everyone. I haven’t seen her in about a year since our last game night.
One time she told me that she believes everyone is seeking purpose. That everyone our age is trying to figure out what they really want to do with their life.
Do they want to start that business that they’ve been putting off?
Try to pursue that next level of their career?
Or, should they go back to school to figure out what they really want to do?
The older that you get, the more the windows close on your future. You can’t become an astronaut any more, like you wanted to when you were little. You’re not good at everything, like your parents might of told you. The paths narrow down to just a few.
But, I think that she’s wrong. When I was in El Salvador, I was walking through the small villages of Santa Ana, Suchitoto, and of course, La Reina. I talked with some of the locals and the other Americans that were staying in hostels.
“People here know that they don’t have a lot,” my new friend said. “They try to always be grateful for what they have. They are very happy, actually. I think it’s based in their faith.”
We were sitting around the hostel pool, dipping our toes into the water.
“Yes, but what about ambition,” I said. “What about becoming more?”
He shrugged. “Ambition makes you focus on what you lack. It reminds you of everything that you don’t have. That’s not the way to happiness for these people.”
I walked out of the train station and made my way to the park.
In America, we all seek purpose because we have the luxury of doing so. We stress out about what career we should pursue and how we should spend our time, when people in developing nations would kill for that opportunity. And, some of them don’t even want it. They are happy with how their life is. They don’t like how the rest of the developed world is overworked, caffeinated, worried, and tired.
It’s tempting to say that we are all seeking purpose, but in reality, it’s just a far-off goal that would appease our ever-thinking mind. To finally feel like we have a plan, and to be okay with it.
Despite all of my achievements, I’ve never felt like I had a plan, other than to try to survive in this steel jungle of a city.
“Yeah, so I don’t think he was very interested.”
We are sitting on a bench by the Bethesda Terrace in the middle of Central Park, watching passerbyers and street performers. Kelly is telling me about this guy she was dating in Europe who stopped replying to her text messages.
“We got along great, but the chemistry just wasn’t there, I guess.”
For the last few years, I have watched as Kelly has dated guy after guy, never really finding a good fit. There’s always something off. Maybe she didn’t like how they dressed, or some minor habit, like the way the left socks lying around in the bedroom, would eat her up inside.
Thinking about it now, not having the opportunity to meet a true match for your soul is extremely painful. You’re being denied to witness a part of yourself that you’ve probably never known before.
That’s how it felt the last time I was in love. Like I had discovered a version of myself, one that I really liked… until I didn’t.
Maybe that’s what we’re all seeking.
Kelly passes me a little plastic container filled with grapes, while she digs into the salad she has prepared for our picnic.
“What do you think,” I say, chomping down on a grape. “Of this philosophical sentiment.”
I pause to swallow a grape and Kelly looked up at me expectantly.
“Every moment, we are trying to bring someone back into our reality. Someone we miss in some way.
But it’s not the person, it’s how we feel around them. Who they let us become. The way they give us permission to be the truest version of ourselves.
Like gravity, we are pulled towards our better self. Towards the people who make our reality feel complete.”
I pause.
Kelly is looking down at the grass. Her eyes glance upwards at the sky.
“Wow… that’s almost poetic,” she said, smiling. “You should do more writing.”
With that, she tosses a bit of bread towards a duck in the pond. I watch as it collides with the water. The impact ripples outwards, until it has touched every edge.
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe I should.”
The Thought Hole 