Sitting on the rug, with makeup strewn all over the floor, I felt luck oozing out of every inch of my exposed skin. My bare arms showed me I have every bit of power I’ve always suspected to hold. Singing along with Björk, I told myself:
“I can sense it, something important is about to happen”.
I lead the way down the stairs, leaving blind impressions and bitter tastes in the mouths of people that care about me. I pat a friend on the back as if to say ‘be on your way’. I dance with a beautiful German girl and I tell her that I think we’re soul-mates.
Then, he says hello to me. The purple lights stop flashing while we look at each other. I see myself stepping forward into his arms, knowing he wouldn’t be deterred or surprised. The feeling builds until I pull my eyes away; away from the feeling of fear, and back to safety. It felt like an effort but the relief was instant.
Throughout December I listened to Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac nearly every day, waiting to sing the lyrics:
"to the gypsy that remains faces freedom, with a little fear I have no fear, have only love"
I relished singing "I have no fear, have only love" but I was yet to realise the significance of feeling afraid. I felt it while sitting at the kitchen table in the afternoon; drinking tea or answering emails. I didn’t understand what I should do with it. The anticipation was so deep in my stomach, and I read it as anxiety or as a bad omen.
I kept returning to that long moment while I looked up at him, before I darted away. If I needed a reason or a sign, this was it.
My philosophy after the most recent upheaval was very clear to me. It usually is the first time.
I had complete faith in whatever I would do, so I allowed myself to stumble ahead. I had utmost trust in my future self; whatever I may say, whatever I may suggest would be alright as long as I was being true to my feelings.
The days passed painfully slow. My intense anticipation felt like an intruder to my mind and I found it harder to choose the way I feel. My faith faltered because of the silence between us. I was standing very still but waiting. It was easier to numb the anxious feeling out.
The weekend came and he was predictable at first. He asked me questions when I would have prefered to listen. He ran into groups of friends and I waited awkwardly until they were done talking, trying not to look at him admiringly, as is ingrained in me. Our Guinness’ were about a quarter drunk when told me that he had slept with a close friend of his a few nights ago. A friend that he has been secretly in love with for months.
When I later analysed this turn of events, I found I could translate it as punishment for not acting on a feeling a week ago, but I did act on a feeling that night. He suggested that we go back to my apartment for tea. We sat close to each other and I couldn’t look at him, avoiding the situation at hand. But when I turned to him to say “what are you doing”, his stare, the fear, that feeling catapulted, and I kissed him.
The next day, the feeling was outside of myself. It draped lightly around my shoulders, without me even noticing. It sat there waiting, and slowly sunk into my skin, and into the pit of my stomach.
After the fact, it was easy to ask myself why I was there in the first place. But I know why. Of course I do. The mingled freedom and fear might have reached a point of no return had I just stepped into it, followed through, and that’s what I was trying to do.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that fear and anticipation because I’ve realised how important these feelings actually are. I’m realising that feeling afraid is just a sign that you are doing the right thing.
I felt afraid as I waited to see him. I felt afraid when he held eye contact with me.
But when things went wrong, I shrugged it off so quickly. I had agonised over what to do for months, and then I put it to bed within a week. I put the fear away by numbing it out. I put the shame away by ignoring it. I didn’t write about what happened. I didn’t think about it. I did not talk to him again.
For the next few weeks, I shrugged off some of the things I do that help me feel real. If words were being repeated around me, I didn’t notice them. I brushed past them. Or, I noticed, and found it briefly amusing how I used to attach such meaning to the repetition of a word, or song, or symbol. I almost start believing in chance.
Repeatedly, feelings of rejection, or feeling like I acted wrong in some way, stop me suddenly in my tracks. Something didn’t work out the way I hoped it would, and so I retreat. I tell myself I need to be in solitude and reflect, to ensure that it won’t happen again. But for the rest of December, I blocked out my feelings, telling myself I would pay attention to them another time.
I wait until courage builds back up but why does it have to drop? I can continue to be brave and be scared. But I can’t keep hoping that the next time I follow a whim will be the right time; the one and only time I get exactly what I want.
Here’s something I wrote back in October, when I was fussing way too much over what I was not doing.
I'm used to grabbing love and running but now I wait until I'm left with no choice because why would I? how could I? It's too unbelievable to stay home, stay ignorant, be left unchanged there's a worry now, hiding in my heart everything used to feel brand new so I took every chance I was given Life feels unrelenting, but I'm not I'm not trying to spread myself around but I never give myself away I have been picked up and set back down but I'm unmarked, unscathed I'm still the same person I was but something has changed in my mind I think I know something that I can't see why am I saying no?
Back then, I wasn’t trusting my body when it felt the need to recoil or stand very still. But the confusion created by not moving was tearing me apart. So in December, I stopped doubting, I went ahead and I grabbed something and I ran.
When things don’t work out exactly how you hoped they would, the answer is not to retreat so that they don’t repeat themselves. They may repeat themselves, but differently each time. The only way to grow is to seek out experiences that are completely unknown to you.
It’s January now, and I’m back to my usual tactics; planting little seeds in my mind, remembering lyrics to songs and playing them repeatedly, so as not to forget.
I think I know what I need. I need a risky kind of life.
Uncertainty excites me, baby!
I’m no worse off because of one night of reckless honestly and hunger, and the frustration of trying to do things correctly is so much worse than just trying.
It seems that, like always, my Instagram feed and the radio are providing me with the answers. Here’s a David Bowie quote I came across the other day:
“Always go a little further into the water than you feel you’re capable of. Go a little bit out of your depth, and when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”
On New Year’s Eve, I retreated in my own quiet belief that I know how I mean to go on. I don’t need to rush into things so that they will stick around.
I’m learning the difference between standing still in fear, and taking something slow. And, most definitely, I’m learning that to make real change, I have to seek the unknown, the only thing scary enough to be the right thing.
Everyone is making their New Year's wishes hoping to call on the one who will win them but first, a test, or a taste to see who will be not lost in this last day I am not taking up, except when it comes as naturally as what is so unknown to me I see now I could go back some months and take what was mine but I don't so that it may not dry up I can stay where I am, and keep my eyes high Nothing will be lost that is already mine
Finally, here are my little mantras for 2024 all gathered up nicely. These sayings were primarily inspired by what I learned in December, which settled more firmly into my skin after I wrote the New Years Eve poem, and finally came into words in late January.
Our experiences are important, especially when initiated out of fear, and something has to made out of them, whether it’s in the outcome or in creation. I’m trying to remember to follow through.