Escaping Emily

Monday, May 22, 2017

I’d liken my introspective nature to a paralysis at times; I am my own worst enemy. The last few weeks has caused a deeper reflection and repetition of my young adult life in my head. Fragments. Memories. Words. Years. Things I wish I said, or phrased differently, or didn't say at all. Things I’d rather forget. Things I wish I wrote down, or wish I savored longer. Although I cannot change the past, I can appreciate where I am now and the moments, lessons, and people that led me to present. In an attempt to maintain my usual positive mentality, and not collapse into an oblivion of Emily thought, I created this Gratitude List to remind me of just how lucky I am, how far I have come, and what still needs some fine tuning-- and maybe inspire a few others to do the same.

Written Expression. Words are one of my gifts. An extension of my voice, my heart, best articulated by putting pen to paper. I’m not the best at translating those thoughts into a solid vocalization, at least, not yet. I have little trouble talking to people, but when it comes to verbalizing exactly what I wish to say, it's not easy for me. I think it has something to do with my perfectionism and a pressure to find the exact words to relay my emotions. Because of this, I allow thoughts to bubble in my head longer than they should, and even though writing serves as a form of release, the words still linger.

 I am always thankful of those who appreciate my writing, whether through this blog, letters, or other form of written communication. Those in my life who accept me where I am, who are open to reading my voice and my thoughts, even in times of disagreement, misunderstanding, and uncertainty. I wish verbal communication came naturally to me. I reflect, and things have left my tongue with the wrong words or intention, or a chip of attitude, and are just subpar to things that could have been better expressed with patience. I have taken steps of honest and transparent communication through my writing, and have been working for the past year to create an improved verbal application, but it is still very much a work in progress. I am always thankful of those who appreciate my writing, whether through this blog, letters, or other form of written communication. Those in my life who accept me where I am, who are open to reading my voice and my thoughts, even in times of disagreement, misunderstanding, and uncertainty. I wish verbal communication came naturally to me. I reflect, and things have left my tongue with the wrong words or intention, or a chip of attitude, and are just subpar to things that could have been better expressed with patience. I have taken steps of honest and transparent communication through my writing, and have been working for the past year to create an improved verbal application, but it is still very much a work in progress.

Healthy Friendships. It's taken me most of my adult life to identify with a strong friend group, or even open myself to the idea of what society defines as a "best friend."  In childhood, someone you supposedly spend every moment with, never fought with, exchanged friendship bracelets and had sleepovers with each weekend. As a child (an only child at that), I was likely unaware of my introverted nature and need to recharge, and therefore, failed to identify with sharing that space, or conceptualize myself having, needing, or wanting a "best friend."

There was never an absence of friends, but maybe I was in scrutiny of the ones I did have--searching for this supposed "best friend" that never really identified with my needs. Friends have entered my life, they have left, and some have even reappeared. For better or worse, with the few friendships that have fallen apart, some of those whom I now consider to be my best friends have emerged from that rubble. And perhaps that was the purpose in those individuals' roles all along. That is not to say I was a perfect friend, I'm still not a perfect friend, but I have friends that love me, and who appreciate my presence, even if I make them take a picture everywhere we go.

We might not talk on a daily basis, but I know in the end, they always have my back. I know they're there, just as I am there for them. It goes both ways. We learn and grow from one another, laugh with each other, support each other, and listen with honesty and integrity, furthering each other to our best selves, even when we feel we are at our worst. That depth matters to me, and my friendships were not always at that level. I have finally reached a place in my life when I am happy with the energy surrounding me, and am receptive to finding that energy in a new locale.    

Forgiveness. Necessary to my healing, but something that does not come as easily to me as it once did. Last year, I wrote a controversial post about how "I am Most Grateful to the Guy Who Gave Me Herpes," and really, I am. That experience forced me to grow in every area of my life. In my romantic relationships, friendships, career, and educational pursuits. Things I had ignored for years, or brushed to the side. I was forced to look in the mirror and reevaluate my existence and what I am seeking within myself and my life. It was a transformative year for me--I'm not the same person I once was, I think it would be a problem if I were still the same person in terms of personal growth.

I have loved. I have lost. I have forgiven, over, and over, and over again. Cyclical, my own toxicity. Even when people highlight the negative aspects of someone, I will seek the good. I've always held a healing presence. There were times when I acted from that place too quickly. I never gave either party time to reflect, I simply pursued a quick fix, a temporary bandage for larger problems at hand.

Some of these people are no longer in my life, but their absences are not indicative of a lack of effort or forgiveness. Continued attempts and failures to heal and begin anew do not equate to healthy friendships or relationships. Not everyone will lift you up. Not everyone wants to see you achieve success. Not everyone is as positive, caring, and genuine as we wish them to be, or know they could be.  People can enter your life, and fail to hold a permanent place, and sometimes, this person can be you. I'm sure it was me at some juncture. There is no ill will to those who I have separated from, but I think it is important to achieve an awareness of how you affect others, and the effects they have on you. Like oil and water, some relationships just don't work, no matter how much effort you put into them, or how often you start over, not everyone is meant to stay in your life. Although there were better ways of navigating my separations, for me, these people served as teachers of pivotal growth points within myself that were necessary to my healing and maturity.    

 Passion. I see failure. I see mistakes made. But I see persistence, and someone who seeks growth, even though sometimes--most of the time, she has to learn the hard way.
But at the root of this list, I see passion. I see dreams realized. I love hard. I put every ounce of myself into my goals, interests, career, vision, and those who matter most to me. At times, probably a little too much. In my teens, I often lost my identity in others. It took several rounds of playing hide and seek with myself for me to learn, accept, and understand my value, need for space and independence, and appreciation for that in others.

I know some practice daily gratitude journals, but for me, these are current life themes that jump off my page. They offer a more complete picture of what I have realized, and what my current self-work is dedicated to.

Not Yet Trending: Letters & Why I Write Them

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Fingers harmonize a melody against keys as they search for just the right combination of... words. With exactly 1.5 spaces between my paragraphs, I press print. Brightly colored pen in hand, I strike through what doesn’t make sense. I circle words I want to change, and parenthesize phrases I don’t know what to do with. Colorful scribbles of questions and ideas fill the remaining blank space. Another edited document is tossed into the recycle bin. This process continues until I reach complete satisfaction with what I’ve written. Sometimes that means three reviews, other times, that means twenty. And sometimes, that piece never sees beyond the horizon of that blue bin.

Much of my writing goes public—be it through my blog, within a research community, or other publication platforms. There is a small collection that makes it past the recycle bin, and is not for public consumption--my letters. My writing process for letters goes one step further: physically taking a pencil to paper and writing. A three-page piece in print equates to roughly six pages of my nearly indecipherable handwriting on loose-leaf paper. Add a lipstick mark if you’re one of the lucky ones. 

Considered "love letters" by most, Nicholas Sparks' The Notebook may come to mind in romanticized media. Letters are seen as old fashioned. Something maybe your grandparents or great-grandparents did during their courtship, or while away at war. Handwritten, typed on a typewriter, and often unreturned. Why bother writing them today? Millennial dating is easy. You download an app, create the best version of yourself, swipe left or right through people in your city, and come up with a clever pick up line in hopes of grabbing the interest of your perspective dates. Undoubtedly, most suitors likely don't have the courage to approach you in public, or even use those oh-so-clever lines.

The lines I create require much more intimacy. I write when I have something of importance to say, but cannot trust the delivery method of speech. This can be a double-edged sword, and has often left me wishing I spoke up instead of allowing my thoughts and emotions to boil. The problem with verbalization, for me, is that it comes out wrong. Or is misinterpreted. Or I turn into a blubbery, crying mess. Or it just flat-out sounded better in my head than the words that spewed off my tongue. So I write. I write until I find the perfect syntax structure and tone. I write until I find meaning. I write until my heart feels release. I write until I can rest my head against the pillow at night.

And maybe some believe this communication method to be as cowardly as those online dating apps. But for me, it comes down to effort, and living a life of authenticity.  Writing exactly how I feel, why I feel it, and handing it to another is a courageous act, an intimate act. It's something that took reflection, preparation, and, knowing me, unnecessary overthinking. Letter writing is a rarity--there's no app for that.

When Even Yoga Pisses You Off: Finding Ease in the Effort to Look Up

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

4:45AM on Monday morning and my alarm sounds. Well, the first of three. I begrudgingly drag myself out of bed at 5:07 and am somehow out the door at 5:36 to make my 6 AM lift. I’m late for work, lugging three bags and a yoga mat onto the subway because I still haven’t found a bag that effectively transitions me between work and my workouts. Scrambling around pockets and crevices for my KeyCard, I realize I left my work ID in my apartment. Shit, it’s Monday.

My stream of consciousness is noticeably bitter. The question that sticks out in my head is a simple one: “Why?” The answer, much more complex.

Anger is foreign to me. It knocks me off balance, it heightens discomfort. My shoulders rise closer to my earlobes, my teeth clench, my brows furrow, my breath quickens. Fight-or-flight mode is fully engaged, and I can't seem to let go. After a series of post-workday vinyasas, my body felt lax, but my thoughts still held an intensified edge. Otherwise known as, "I left yoga wanting to punch someone in the face."

Unsatisfied, I resorted to what I often do when I need to grasp a sense of peace within (or at least, convince myself that I'm still capable of it).  I poured my favorite seven dollar riesling into a coffee mug and walked down to the Race Street Pier. I’m more of a sunrise and coffee kind of girl, but the water was calling, the sunset inching closer. I never just attend the sun's scheduled decent. I crave the transitions, the in-betweens that often go ignored. As I walked around and read some of the penmanship etched into the railings, one sentiment found its way into my heart:

“Look at all these open canvases to write upon… Now look up at the bright lights of the night to wish upon, the stars you gaze at may already be dead or dying, but to you they are still as bright as the day you first saw them…first saw HER!!! The only difference is that her love shined brighter. And her love never dies…leave dying to the body, because love, love lives forever.”

Corny, cliché, and oh so poorly written--it's tragic, but the intention is not.  Living in a city, I don't see many stars in comparison to the agricultural reserve of Maryland I once called home. Or at least, I don't care to devote my efforts to searching for them here. Ah... effort.  It was not until the value of their presence was brought to my attention that I noticed their absence.

Our actions serve as testaments to what matters to us. A combination of our jobs, friends, families, hobbies, and habits build a complex puzzle of "us." Somewhere between all of our "I'm on-the-way's," appointments, and deadlines, is emotional attachment. Invested interpersonal effort. The people we make time for. The relationships we choose to maintain. The energies we allow into our lives. That all too familiar conversation in which both parties say, "We should really get together soon," but neither follows up. Effort--it's a choice.

I've been known to burn bridges. Cumulative years of disrespect, naivety, and a hurting heart have developed into a zero-tolerance attitude as a mode of self-protection. Some things just take time to heal, and I'll re-open a door when I see fit. Although, there are some doors that will remain sealed forever. I have become skilled at honest communication, and it is a way in which I have found great satisfaction in my relationships. What I need to pay closer attention to is expended effort, especially as graduate school approaches.

The reality of working and going to school full-time is daunting, but it's something that I've been preparing for over the last two years. Add in yoga, lifting, writing a book (yes, that's actually happening as of three weeks ago), hiking, and associated keys to Emily's happiness, and I'm not going to have much time. I crave meaningful and intimate relationships. I want the people I surround myself with to matter to me, I want the time we spend together to be equally as valuable and productive. I want growth. I want each of us to reflect and notice a positive impact since entering one another's lives. No one wants a friend or loved one to keep us at a level of stagnancy--but maybe that's just an Emily thing.

I have a bad habit in which I stay in relationships, and even friendships, longer than I should. I have a big heart. It is likely my greatest fault. I forgive and forget. Or at least, I pretend to. Highly sensitive and open about my feelings, I still hurt. Subconsciously, I keep myself at a safe distance because of the past, in fear of overstepping my place in the present. I internalize intimacy.  I have never felt that I have met the concept of enough--whatever that loose definition may be. I've never felt like that star when someone looks up. I know I'm that star. Surely, I know I am capable of that love. But I haven't felt like her.

And it's not that there is a need to feel like her. I don't think that's a need anyone should claim or seek. I'm in a good place. I am happy, noticeably happier. I have a high standard of growth and success set for myself. I have no reason to complain or emanate negativity and anger. But sometimes, there is a small part of Emily that reflects upon her history, and wishes to spend a sunset with someone who isn't afraid of that depth, or reaching beyond that barrier. I think a similar glimmer of hope resides in all of us. "Maybe we'll both look up at the stars. But maybe, you'll choose to look over at me instead."