.... Of loneliness, of uncertainty, of missing the city I swore I would never leave.
And I know I cannot go back. And I know I can only move forward.
Terrifying, exhilarating, groundless. If I do not relax into the flow of things, I simply will never relax, and thus is born a workaholic in me.
I have an idea of how I want my life to be. I have no idea how I will get there... and I will get there, it's only a matter of time. I must not let this place swallow me whole, nor can I lose focus.
A few people have asked me if I would be going back. Someday, I'd like to have homes in SF and LA, though for now, I know I will not be returning anytime soon. I cried when I flew back from my test shoot on Sunday, watching the Bay disappear into the moonlit night: they were not tears brought about by a pang of longing. They were tears of finally accepting the beginning of my process of goodbye.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The Story So Far
I arrived in Pasadena at 1 AM Wednesday morning, after driving all night Tuesday and encountering moments of dense fog along the way. And I still made it in 7 hours, with a Roof Bag full of crap on my car and everything! The plan was to couch surf at my friend's place until Monday night when my sublet in Glendale actually begins.
By the end of the day Wednesday, it became apparent that I would have to come back to SF for a test shoot with the RED camera, for a film I've been involved with for awhile. I fly back tonight.
Considering the sublet thing, and all the back and forth I've done this week, it almost doesn't seem real that I have moved, even though I've already gone to a meeting, set up (and missed... oops: I got lost... but I have a different one on Feb. 2nd) an audition, and gone out on a date. I have many more things to take care of and people to meet with in the upcoming week, and of course the subsequent weeks.
The most important thing of all is relating to myself and exploring further inward than I ever have. The time is long overdue. I have many goals in place: physical, emotional, spiritual, mental, and professional. It's time to strike a balance, and the challenges I've set for myself ought to bring some new things out in me that have lain stagnant for far too long.
By the end of the day Wednesday, it became apparent that I would have to come back to SF for a test shoot with the RED camera, for a film I've been involved with for awhile. I fly back tonight.
Considering the sublet thing, and all the back and forth I've done this week, it almost doesn't seem real that I have moved, even though I've already gone to a meeting, set up (and missed... oops: I got lost... but I have a different one on Feb. 2nd) an audition, and gone out on a date. I have many more things to take care of and people to meet with in the upcoming week, and of course the subsequent weeks.
The most important thing of all is relating to myself and exploring further inward than I ever have. The time is long overdue. I have many goals in place: physical, emotional, spiritual, mental, and professional. It's time to strike a balance, and the challenges I've set for myself ought to bring some new things out in me that have lain stagnant for far too long.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Purge
It builds up after awhile.
Like what you do with a pipe: you fill it with tobacco, smoke it, then when it runs out, you fill it up again, and so on. Sometimes, you put in more; sometimes, you put in less. Sometimes, you use a different kind. You always hope that you'll find the right kind and you won't have to keep experimenting, and you've come close a couple times, but it just hasn't worked out.
Then you realize you've been smoking way too much, and you have never cleaned out your pipe. Not once. This tar has built up and it has begun to affect you physically, maybe even mentally. OK, definitely mentally.
So what I really mean to say is: I have been tearing out pieces of my heart for years. I put them back, and never gave the wounds a chance to fully heal. I just kept impatiently ripping out new ones, afraid that I wouldn't feel normal if I didn't.
It's almost like I'm one of those people who cut themselves, except instead of doing it externally with a razor, I do it internally with love.
Love.
Not the kind from your friends and family: intimacy. Partnership. As much as I have always wanted it to be real for me, it never has been. I don't know what it's like to have a heart without a hole in it, and I will not be ready for the real thing until I do know.
After eight years, I'm finally not afraid to show some love to myself and let myself heal my wounds. Just me and my gauze, and a little patience. Maybe some pipe cleaners, too.
In solitude.
Like what you do with a pipe: you fill it with tobacco, smoke it, then when it runs out, you fill it up again, and so on. Sometimes, you put in more; sometimes, you put in less. Sometimes, you use a different kind. You always hope that you'll find the right kind and you won't have to keep experimenting, and you've come close a couple times, but it just hasn't worked out.
Then you realize you've been smoking way too much, and you have never cleaned out your pipe. Not once. This tar has built up and it has begun to affect you physically, maybe even mentally. OK, definitely mentally.
So what I really mean to say is: I have been tearing out pieces of my heart for years. I put them back, and never gave the wounds a chance to fully heal. I just kept impatiently ripping out new ones, afraid that I wouldn't feel normal if I didn't.
It's almost like I'm one of those people who cut themselves, except instead of doing it externally with a razor, I do it internally with love.
Love.
Not the kind from your friends and family: intimacy. Partnership. As much as I have always wanted it to be real for me, it never has been. I don't know what it's like to have a heart without a hole in it, and I will not be ready for the real thing until I do know.
After eight years, I'm finally not afraid to show some love to myself and let myself heal my wounds. Just me and my gauze, and a little patience. Maybe some pipe cleaners, too.
In solitude.
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