Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Imaginarium of the Heart
Men are confusing. The whole lot of them. Just as you’ve decided to not like one – and have made every effort to move on – he will do something, say something, reveal something about himself that will cause the frosty disposition you've grown comfortable building, to thaw for him again.
The man I had liked, then decided I mustn’t, and from whom I have kept a very professional distance, let loose a side of himself I hadn’t had the opportunity to see until this week. As we talked, his words were warm and comforting like summer rain. We spoke of things outside of our respective jobs: shared interests in photography, writing and other arts, cooking, stargazing, and moon-chasing. He looked at me and with all sincerity, told me to run, to seek out and hone my gifts. He was excited for me. He made me want to be excited again.
He told me how much he admired my imagination, the ability I had to step outside my surroundings, and to lose myself in thought or stories. And as much as I do enjoy this particular quirk, I wanted to tell him how dangerous it was for me. To always walk the fine line between reality and dream, of truth and imagination, of the tangible and the ephemeral, is to allow for vulnerability, hesitation, disappointment and a constant, nearly insatiable yearning.
It’s strange. As much as I enjoy these feelings -- the flirting and smiles, the shared laughter and occasional brushes -- I am still so hesitant, still so fearful. I realize all the more in my melancholic self-consciousness, that I am still so very naïve when it comes to these sorts of pursuits of the heart.
I am in danger of falling before any foundation is set. Every word uttered, every glance and grin, every hearty laugh, will have me undone soon enough.
It's all fluff for the foolish.
The man I had liked, then decided I mustn’t, and from whom I have kept a very professional distance, let loose a side of himself I hadn’t had the opportunity to see until this week. As we talked, his words were warm and comforting like summer rain. We spoke of things outside of our respective jobs: shared interests in photography, writing and other arts, cooking, stargazing, and moon-chasing. He looked at me and with all sincerity, told me to run, to seek out and hone my gifts. He was excited for me. He made me want to be excited again.
He told me how much he admired my imagination, the ability I had to step outside my surroundings, and to lose myself in thought or stories. And as much as I do enjoy this particular quirk, I wanted to tell him how dangerous it was for me. To always walk the fine line between reality and dream, of truth and imagination, of the tangible and the ephemeral, is to allow for vulnerability, hesitation, disappointment and a constant, nearly insatiable yearning.
It’s strange. As much as I enjoy these feelings -- the flirting and smiles, the shared laughter and occasional brushes -- I am still so hesitant, still so fearful. I realize all the more in my melancholic self-consciousness, that I am still so very naïve when it comes to these sorts of pursuits of the heart.
I am in danger of falling before any foundation is set. Every word uttered, every glance and grin, every hearty laugh, will have me undone soon enough.
It's all fluff for the foolish.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Life in the Minor Keys
I. am. drained. Exhausted. Fighting to stand and breathe. Falling apart.
For the past week or so, an all too familiar and never welcomed companion came to visit me. Sorrow. That invisible beast that burdens your soul and causes your feet to drag, your eyes to well up with tears, your shoulders to slump. The stress of work and then a minor tiff with a friend just about did me in. It was all I could do to NOT weep at my desk.
I'm beginning to think I may have mild depression. (Don't know why I just shared that. Fortunately for me and my pride, only 2 people read this, so, I suppose, I'm pretty safe.) If there was even a nano-second of silence, and my mind was quiet, I could feel the pressure of hot tears collecting just behind my eyes. My mind would start to wander to dark places as I desperately tried to quiet the voice inside my head and ask the Lord to deafen the cacophony with the soothing sound of His. No comfort could be found. Not in the warm embraces, affections or kind words of friends. Not in the sunshine. Nadie. My only solace were a few minor chords I strummed, then plucked, on my trusty guitar.
Life in the minor keys... D minor to be exact. It's pre-tty awesome.
For the past week or so, an all too familiar and never welcomed companion came to visit me. Sorrow. That invisible beast that burdens your soul and causes your feet to drag, your eyes to well up with tears, your shoulders to slump. The stress of work and then a minor tiff with a friend just about did me in. It was all I could do to NOT weep at my desk.
I'm beginning to think I may have mild depression. (Don't know why I just shared that. Fortunately for me and my pride, only 2 people read this, so, I suppose, I'm pretty safe.) If there was even a nano-second of silence, and my mind was quiet, I could feel the pressure of hot tears collecting just behind my eyes. My mind would start to wander to dark places as I desperately tried to quiet the voice inside my head and ask the Lord to deafen the cacophony with the soothing sound of His. No comfort could be found. Not in the warm embraces, affections or kind words of friends. Not in the sunshine. Nadie. My only solace were a few minor chords I strummed, then plucked, on my trusty guitar.
Life in the minor keys... D minor to be exact. It's pre-tty awesome.
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