Fight and Trust

Trust. Dedication. These are things that I thought that I understood over the years, and of course I understood bits and pieces, but now... Wowsa! Now I feel like I have the whole thing.

Nikola and I have been on a Friends binge. We are in season 3, where Ross and Rachel break up--- things get tough in their relationship and Rachel says that they need a break. Ross immediately goes out and sleeps with another girl, thinking that their relationship was over. Rachel finds out and while they are trying to figure out if they can make things work Ross points out how quickly Rachel gave up their relationship, the way that she didn't fight for it. (I wont go into how Ross failed to fight for the relationship either.) He needed to know that she was going to fight to be with him, and in the end she decided that, no, she wouldn't. Him sleeping with another girl had destroyed her understanding of him, because before she felt completely safe with him and thought of him as a man who would never, ever hurt her. After such a painful experience she could no longer view him the same and so the love had changed. Now, here I am suspending the fact that this is just a television show, and the fact that I am not really certain of the monogamy rules as the end-all of relationships to say: "I finally get it!" 

There have been times in the past that I was accused of not fighting for a relationship. Sometimes that accusation has been true. Sometimes it was, in my heart's view, unwarranted. However, whether I was fighting or not (I realize now), the fight was always on my shoulders. It was, ultimately, a question of my investment and how much I was willing to give up to be with someone. Was I willing to give up my location, my job, my school, my values? How much room was I willing to give? How much of them was I willing to take? This is not to say that there has been no give from my previous partners. The people that I have loved in the past have given quite a bit of love to me, and accepted many aspects of me. Some have been very supportive of this wandering game that I play and my thirst to find myself. Some have put up with large amounts of insanity. Some have not. Some left at the first sign of trouble, and some have stuck it out far enough to scar ourselves into a permanent remembrance. But it has never, never been the way that it has been with my husband.

 "How much are you willing to fight for us?"

With Nikola, for the first time, I feel like the question is not shooting directly towards me and only me. It is a valid question. But for the first time I feel that he trusts me enough to never ask, and I feel like I will never reach the end of his fight either. He knows that I want our life together, and I cannot question his commitment either. I have never really thought about it before, but I think about it often with him: I have a man that will never hurt me. Now, that is not to say that I will not suffer in our relationship, and that I will not experience hurt. But, that pain will never, ever be inflicted intentionally by him. I know that for sure. I know that he will support me in any way that he can and that he will always, always fight for our relationship. I can trust that. I never knew I NEEDED to trust that, but I do, and I can and it is wonderful.

I am the happiest woman in the world in this marriage.

Intimacy

What is intimacy? Is it the vulnerability associated with nudity? Is it sharing your shame, or your dreams that you fear may never come true? Or perhaps it is less to do with vulnerability of any type and more about consistency- sharing regular time and experience together and being honest in your actions and reactions to things. I have seen couples search together for this elusive intimacy, and some succeed and some fail to find it. I have seen individuals yearn, thirst, beg, and desire for intimacy in all of its forms. And where can it be found? In a friend? A lover? Family? The unconditional love of a pet?

Last night at school we had a very intimate presentation topic. Our block dealt with Visual and Sensory Anthropology and our assignment consisted of bringing in 3 sensory objects that contextualized us in a cultural or political setting. I went directly towards scouting for my objects as my focus as scouting is full of symbolism, and experiential learning. However, as I listened to the presentations of my classmates I started to feel that I had ducked out of the assignment. They brought in such personal, intimate examples. From the football cards that one boy had traded with a now-deceased friend that contextualized the politics of war for him, to a cut-off dreadlock that helped a girl express her non-hetero-normative gender, these secrets were dark and personal. I could have brought in any number of secrets. I could have shared. Instead, what was most important to me was not secret at all. It was very open, and acceptable. Is intimacy only built in secrets and shame, and the strength to share what is unacceptable? Perhaps it is built in shared passion like the boy who charmingly spoke of his obsession with the ticking sound of clocks...

I came home and my boyfriend met me at the bus stop with a jacket. He wrapped it around me and took my hand. We shared a dinner, cuddled up to each other and watched a television show. We kissed. He read me a story. We made love. In the morning we cuddled and I talked and talked, telling him all about the class from the night before. I revealed to him my fear that I was loosing my academic touch, and my joy at the response I received from my instructor. (A very positive  response, which also contained specific areas to work on.) It is a relationship that doesn't lack for intimacy, for trust, for a depth of (Here I must insert a word that does not quite explain what I am going for, but there is no other) security. I have no fear with him.

Yet the teasing out of new intimacy reminded me not to get wrapped up in the soft love of a single individual. The intimacy of friendship, of family, of crushes, of animals on the streets and even the trees that grow around us are all intimacies that I need in order to be a happy, whole individual. 

Doubt

Doubt creeps in through the cracks. Doubt creeps in through the moments of silence. I wanted this post to be about boys, and about loves, but from the first keystroke it has swollen; it expands and becomes general. Generally, doubt creeps in. Doubt in myself. Doubt in the world. Sometimes I have doubt in the perpetual motion of this ever-expanding universe. I guess that the creeping, sneakiness of doubt is fair, because faith creeps in on the same silent paws. The thing is that no one ever exudes the stealth of faith. But it is there, side by side with it's counterpart, practicing the fine art of surprise. Faith creeps in. It creeps in through the cracks, and the dark, silent nights. Faith is borne in the shininess of the moon, and the bright streak of a falling star. Doubt is the scar that the star left behind. Doubt is in the memories; the bright burns behind closed eyelids that you cannot quite touch. Faith is in the future; it lives on the tongue and in the toes. Doubt is a dark, still place deep inside that I am afraid to feel around in for the chance that I will become lost in it. Faith vibrates around the body like a seaside breeze, raising the hairs.

Doubt and faith are smoke and spirits. They have no power. They cannot touch you. They can not strangle you, and can not save you. But we give them power. We let them guide us, pulling us along like docile, harnessed ponies. We bow to them. Faith and doubt. We compose ourselves of them. Faith and doubt, desire and fear. They build. They grow and multiply until everything is significant and solid.

Sometimes I just want to exhale, just for a moment, and unwrap all of these layers of possibility and live just in the now, and feel just the here. No past, no future, no inside, and no outside.

Just breathe. 

Slow like honey

People say that love is slow. It takes time to build trust and respect between two people. When I was young I believed them. I consented that my full, pulsing heart was nothing more than lust and hormones. I didn't really know my lovers. How could you possibly know someone in a month, or a year? People spend lifetimes not even knowing themselves. So I let the elders tell me that I was young and foolish, and that I didn't know what love was. I second-guessed all of my emotions and my values. They came too easily.

Now, I call bullshit. Love does not, by definition, come in slowly. Sure, it can be slow and quiet. It can be a whisper so softly that you risk missing it altogether. But it can also be quite sudden. It can roar like a lion, the saliva from its jaw smattering your squinched-up face. It can rain down like acidic stars falling from the night sky, piercing your shell of false beliefs.

When I was young I learned what I could from my elders. I learned about moderation, balance and reason. I learned how to keep my heart in check. Now that I am sliding up the scales I am seeing how much I need to relearn from those that are younger than me. Love is, above all, simple. Quick or slow, easy or difficult, it is at least simple.

Will you forgive me?

"They" say that it isn't a good idea to share the private details of your life on the Internet. Once it is uploaded it is impossible to erase. There is always some hidden cache, or a screenshot saved for no apparent reason that you just didn't expect. These will be found during the most important moments of your life, and they will be held against you. Your pictures. Your thoughts. Your admissions. People are always searching for a weapon in the ashes of your life. These are personal things and do not belong on the web. But I have always hated the division between the personal and the professional. I long to be naked, to be honest, and I never care much about my vulnerability.

I sometimes am stopped by the idea that I will not be forgiven for my actions. It is not that I am doing things that I think should need forgiving. However, my personal ethics seem out of phase with the juggernaut of societal expectations. To be honest I do not know a single person who agrees with the standards that the world has set for its individuals, but we all propagate them. Our simple act of hiding what we do and think reinforces these moral standards. A person will say, "Ah, you had sex out of wedlock! (Well, so did I) But there is PROOF that you did! You are not worthy to work with children." There are standards that say it is not okay to be openly gay. That drinking and drugs are wrong. That girls have to maintain a very delicate, undefined balance between chastity and promiscuity. The norms go on, but I won't.

Sitting here at a cafe and writing my uncensored thoughts I wonder- Will I be forgiven? Maybe I will be forgiven for the things that I admitted to when I was 20, but with age comes responsibility and I fear that I won't be forgiven for any honesty that I give now. Now is a critical time, and everything will be held against me. Artists are forgiven. They are worshiped. Politicians are not. I don't want to be a politician, but I am no longer much of an artist. So, here I write, naked, wondering if maybe I am wrong and there is nothing to be forgiven. Or, maybe I will be forgiven.