Words are everything.
Oh, my darling, use yours carefully. Because once said they can't be taken back. And no matter how I try, I can't forget them. I carry the curse of remembrance and once something is put in my little head it won't go away, no matter how I scrub. I know you're hurting and so am I but please know that lives rise and fall on words, written and spoken.
Whenever I think of your words, my chest constricts and I'm startled by the hurt. Every single time it startles me - the hurt. You'd think I'd be used to it by now.
I don't want regrets, but it's too late now, there are too many words.
Life isn't a game. No matter how many kind things are said to mend, the words spoken to break are stronger. They cut deeper and they're easier to let fly.
Next time, perhaps our words will be a little kinder. Perhaps we'll reach inside and use an bit of extra understanding that we couldn't find before. It's so easy to slip, but I hope that we'll find the strength to stand.
Monday, April 24, 2017
Friday, April 21, 2017
Strangers
Stranger
Noun
An individual that one is not acquainted with.
I have developed a talent and honed it over the years. It is not a talent I am proud of or one that I tried to succeed in - this talent of turning friends into strangers. For some reason I seem to enjoy giving my pieces to those who will some day become someone I am not acquainted with at all.
Noun
An individual that one is not acquainted with.
I have developed a talent and honed it over the years. It is not a talent I am proud of or one that I tried to succeed in - this talent of turning friends into strangers. For some reason I seem to enjoy giving my pieces to those who will some day become someone I am not acquainted with at all.
...
In the end, we're all lonely people searching for belonging, and for someone to see everything inside us, and to stay anyways.
Friday, March 17, 2017
Loneliness
Everyone needs someone to hold - some fix that dream in their mind and relinquish all else, others cannot help but turn to the nearest soft and welcoming arms.
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
The Anchor, Sinking
Years ago, when my ship drifted lonesome and without direction, I yearned for you. I yearned for something, anything really, that could ground me and give me rest from this ceaseless tossing about and being tossed upon the seas. There were many times when I was almost thrown overboard - when I almost lost my necklace (my only possession) and yet I did not die.
At last, I found you. You were an anchor and when I fastened you to my ship, things changed. At first I was skeptical, thinking that you would be of no use. I had been drifting for too long - too long. But when I lowered you into the waves and set you in your place, my drifting stopped. I was finally able to make sense of this sea that I was traveling upon, and I knew where I needed to go and how to get there.
Peace found a home in my little ship.
Then, unbeknownst to me, a storm gathered just beyond the horizon. I ignored the distant thunderings, judging them to be some trick of the night sky, some gull's cry contorted by the wind - nothing else. When the storm struck, I was caught unawares. So long had I been at peace, I forgot how to look for storms.
The waves crashed and the thunder broke over me. Again and again the sea tried to wreck us and I feared for my little ship and the anchor I had begun to call my friend. At last, the inevitable happened, and my ship's hull was broken upon the rocks. We were smashed to pieces when you, my anchor, failed and our ship drifted to dangerous waters.
Too late to save all else, and in a frenzy not to lose you, I detached you from the ship's broken pieces and held onto your chain. I was torn from the ship and I held onto you, and you alone. But with no ship left to stand on, you, my Anchor, betrayed me. By holding onto your chain, you dragged me down, down, down to the shadowy depths, battering me against the rocks as we sunk. When we came to rest with a sandy thud on the ocean's floor, I noticed a calm that had not been present in the storm that still raged above. Here, grasping your chain, there was no wind or rain or jagged rocks.
Here, the storm was in my lungs. They began burning with need - need for air and breath and life. Danger flashed inside my mind, and I gripped your chain and swam towards the surface with all my might. But I could not move you. You would not budge, and so I could not move while holding on to you.
Darkness edged into my mind and I looked to you, saltwater burning my eyes. Dark shapes loomed in the murky depths. I knew that to stay would be the end of me, yet leaving you was too full of sorrow and regret.
In a moment, I let go and swam upwards, towards the storm, and sorrow, and regret.
Breaking the water's surface, I found a piece of my beloved ship and I clung to it, letting the storm's merciless power drag us far away from you. Yet, I was too tired and empty to care much whether we weathered this storm or not. A different kind of peace that looked more like defeat came over me.
Finally, after time had passed and no longer seemed to hold meaning, I felt the warmth of the sun again. The storm was over and I thought I could see land on the blue and hazy horizon, but it could have been my weary eyes fooling me with hope.
I remembered you, my anchor, and how I left you behind. There was nothing for me now, all I had left was my one possession. With one hand, I clutched the albatross necklace that hung about my neck, and with the other I held on to the only remaining piece of my little ship. It was all I had left to keep me afloat.
At last, I found you. You were an anchor and when I fastened you to my ship, things changed. At first I was skeptical, thinking that you would be of no use. I had been drifting for too long - too long. But when I lowered you into the waves and set you in your place, my drifting stopped. I was finally able to make sense of this sea that I was traveling upon, and I knew where I needed to go and how to get there.
Peace found a home in my little ship.
Then, unbeknownst to me, a storm gathered just beyond the horizon. I ignored the distant thunderings, judging them to be some trick of the night sky, some gull's cry contorted by the wind - nothing else. When the storm struck, I was caught unawares. So long had I been at peace, I forgot how to look for storms.
The waves crashed and the thunder broke over me. Again and again the sea tried to wreck us and I feared for my little ship and the anchor I had begun to call my friend. At last, the inevitable happened, and my ship's hull was broken upon the rocks. We were smashed to pieces when you, my anchor, failed and our ship drifted to dangerous waters.
Too late to save all else, and in a frenzy not to lose you, I detached you from the ship's broken pieces and held onto your chain. I was torn from the ship and I held onto you, and you alone. But with no ship left to stand on, you, my Anchor, betrayed me. By holding onto your chain, you dragged me down, down, down to the shadowy depths, battering me against the rocks as we sunk. When we came to rest with a sandy thud on the ocean's floor, I noticed a calm that had not been present in the storm that still raged above. Here, grasping your chain, there was no wind or rain or jagged rocks.
Here, the storm was in my lungs. They began burning with need - need for air and breath and life. Danger flashed inside my mind, and I gripped your chain and swam towards the surface with all my might. But I could not move you. You would not budge, and so I could not move while holding on to you.
Darkness edged into my mind and I looked to you, saltwater burning my eyes. Dark shapes loomed in the murky depths. I knew that to stay would be the end of me, yet leaving you was too full of sorrow and regret.
In a moment, I let go and swam upwards, towards the storm, and sorrow, and regret.
Breaking the water's surface, I found a piece of my beloved ship and I clung to it, letting the storm's merciless power drag us far away from you. Yet, I was too tired and empty to care much whether we weathered this storm or not. A different kind of peace that looked more like defeat came over me.
Finally, after time had passed and no longer seemed to hold meaning, I felt the warmth of the sun again. The storm was over and I thought I could see land on the blue and hazy horizon, but it could have been my weary eyes fooling me with hope.
I remembered you, my anchor, and how I left you behind. There was nothing for me now, all I had left was my one possession. With one hand, I clutched the albatross necklace that hung about my neck, and with the other I held on to the only remaining piece of my little ship. It was all I had left to keep me afloat.
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
Smoothies and Old Love Letters
I feel a bit like a smoothie.
Once, I had many unique feelings, thoughts, and emotions. There were ripe, juicy raspberries, sooth, rounded scoops of yogurt, and dollops of peanut butter. But now everything's broken. Sliced to bits until all I'm left with is a weak resemblance of what was there before.
Metaphors are horrible ways to express yourself. Why then, do I employ one here? I think it is because it creates some comforting emotional distance. But perhaps I'll try being more specific.
Some documented things you have said to me in the past:
You are never "just" anything.
I love being a part of your life.
Of course you're not boring.
I miss you.
I have told him so many times that I wish you were here so that I could just roll over to one of the fifty other beds and talk to you.
I never knew how much I needed a friend like you in my life.
Our friendship gives me so much courage and strength and peace.
I'm sorry.
Always yours. Always.
Of course I'm not mad.
I love you, and that won't change.
Shortly after my uncle left my aunt, I wrote a journal entry making a list of all the things I loved about my MIA uncle. Below the list, I wrote that I didn't want to forget, through time and bitterness, that there really were things about him that I loved. (Truthfully, I was a bit less eloquent at the time, but it was long those lines.) I don't want to forget our four-year friendship either. I don't want to forget what you meant to me, and what I meant to you. Before two roads diverged in a yellow wood and our paths grew apart so gradually that I didn't know what was happening until it was too late.
I think the hardest part in this is having to wonder... how could I be so forgettable?
Because when something earth-shattering and life changing happens to you, I find out after the fact that a half dozen of your friends were there with you. And for those who couldn't be there with you? For those people, you updated them personally throughout the process. Yet I have to wait with the crowds. Unsure what's going on. Praying from the sidelines, updating social media again and again, looking for the only update I can hope for.
Forgotten.
Well, my dear.
I loved being a part of your life.
You were never "just"anything to me - there were times when your words meant everything.
You were not boring, we had so much fun together.
There are still times when I wish I could roll over and talk to you the way we used to.
You were the friend I never expected to need.
I miss you too.
Our alienation makes me feel fearful, powerless, and unsettled.
I'm not sure why, but I'm sorry. Really, honestly sorry if I failed you. I'm sorry to abandon you to your path, regardless of whether or not that's what you want from me.
Of course I'm not mad. I'm frustrated, confused, and withdrawn perhaps. Yet, for the sake of everything we were four years ago, there will always (always) be a piece of me that feels only hurt when it reflects on you and I.
Because I love you, and that won't change.
Once, I had many unique feelings, thoughts, and emotions. There were ripe, juicy raspberries, sooth, rounded scoops of yogurt, and dollops of peanut butter. But now everything's broken. Sliced to bits until all I'm left with is a weak resemblance of what was there before.
Metaphors are horrible ways to express yourself. Why then, do I employ one here? I think it is because it creates some comforting emotional distance. But perhaps I'll try being more specific.
Some documented things you have said to me in the past:
You are never "just" anything.
I love being a part of your life.
Of course you're not boring.
I miss you.
I have told him so many times that I wish you were here so that I could just roll over to one of the fifty other beds and talk to you.
I never knew how much I needed a friend like you in my life.
Our friendship gives me so much courage and strength and peace.
I'm sorry.
Always yours. Always.
Of course I'm not mad.
I love you, and that won't change.
Shortly after my uncle left my aunt, I wrote a journal entry making a list of all the things I loved about my MIA uncle. Below the list, I wrote that I didn't want to forget, through time and bitterness, that there really were things about him that I loved. (Truthfully, I was a bit less eloquent at the time, but it was long those lines.) I don't want to forget our four-year friendship either. I don't want to forget what you meant to me, and what I meant to you. Before two roads diverged in a yellow wood and our paths grew apart so gradually that I didn't know what was happening until it was too late.
I think the hardest part in this is having to wonder... how could I be so forgettable?
Because when something earth-shattering and life changing happens to you, I find out after the fact that a half dozen of your friends were there with you. And for those who couldn't be there with you? For those people, you updated them personally throughout the process. Yet I have to wait with the crowds. Unsure what's going on. Praying from the sidelines, updating social media again and again, looking for the only update I can hope for.
Forgotten.
Well, my dear.
I loved being a part of your life.
You were never "just"anything to me - there were times when your words meant everything.
You were not boring, we had so much fun together.
There are still times when I wish I could roll over and talk to you the way we used to.
You were the friend I never expected to need.
I miss you too.
Our alienation makes me feel fearful, powerless, and unsettled.
I'm not sure why, but I'm sorry. Really, honestly sorry if I failed you. I'm sorry to abandon you to your path, regardless of whether or not that's what you want from me.
Of course I'm not mad. I'm frustrated, confused, and withdrawn perhaps. Yet, for the sake of everything we were four years ago, there will always (always) be a piece of me that feels only hurt when it reflects on you and I.
Because I love you, and that won't change.
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Lifeguard Saves Life While on Duty!! Extra! Extra!
Lifeguard Actually Saves Life While on Duty!! EXTRA! EXTRA!
I am approaching this piece with some uncertainty. I fear that my title is over-sensational and sensationalism is something that I do not strive to attain when it comes to these articles. Also, the content of this article (though it was an adventure!) is quite varied from my usual discover-Maine style.
But read on, dear reader, and perhaps you will find it worth your time. I think it might be.
Lifeguarding is a sort of bread-and-butter job for me. Until, of course, the day comes when I break through as a writer, buy the house next to Stephen King's, and write full-time. Our story opens upon an evening that felt like any other, just a normal day of lifeguarding at the indoor pool here in Maine where I work. But then I spotted a young man struggling to swim in the 6ft section.
I kicked off my flip flops in anticipation of being needed, and watched as he struggled doggedly towards deeper water. I readjusted the strap of the lifeguard tube that hung across my chest, making sure that the line would not be in the way, should I have to use it as flotation if things went badly.
When you lifeguard for any amount of time, you learn to look for patterns that could mean that a swimmer is not strong, and this young man was displaying some of these patterns. But I have been wrong before, and after lifeguarding for almost four years, I have only ever pulled one kid out of the water before and it was long ago, and at a pond. I am rarely called upon to use my lifeguard certification for actual lifesaving.
Sure, we retrain often and we know that we might have to go in at any second, but a good lifeguard's job lies mostly in prevention, and the people that frequent indoor pools often know how to swim.
There's less glory than they tell you in the movies.
I continued to watch as he pulled his friend underwater in an effort to stay afloat (I hesitated for a moment then - was he messing around, I wondered?). Then his friend swam away, oblivious. And then, this young man slipped underwater.
I jumped in then, and surprised myself by how quickly I was right above him, (this is why we retrain, I thought to myself) then, using my weight to counterbalance his, I pulled him up and onto my rescue tube.
He had only been under for a few moments, so he didn't cough much. Then looked at me with surprise in his wide eyes and exclaimed,
"I can't swim!"
I almost laughed right then and there. But instead, realizing that such behavior might be inappropriate under the circumstances, I simply asked him if he was alright, and whether he needed help getting to the shallow end or if he could get out at the wall where I had brought him to.
He said he could get out and so he did. Then I did the half hour of paperwork due every time a lifeguard has to jump in (another thing they don't tell you in the movies), then I changed out of my sopping wet clothes, and went home.
No thanks. No glory. That was all. But I don't do it for the thanks, so it doesn't really matter, right?
Right. And besides, he was only acting the way I knew he would - his box demanded it, after all.
You see, we humans enjoy putting people into boxes. Tie the bow nice and tidy, and we won't have to have our world-view questioned. We'll never feel uncomfortable! Pride is so familiar and warm, like a wood fire in a Maine winter.
And this young man was part of a group that comes to my pool every week. I have them all in a comfortable box. They are from a college nearby and they tend to be oblivious to the fact that I just mopped that floor, or that I don't really want to watch them make out during the half hour weekly that I must guard them. Put quite simply, their conduct can be (at times) disorderly at best. That was all there was to them.
Or so I thought.
Until he came back with his group tonight. He had been banished to the shallow end, perhaps been taken down a peg or two, poor guy, but he did come back and that I can certainly respect.
I saw him and made eye contact as I was about to go on deck and relieve the guard that was stationed out there. I saw him just in time to hold the door so that he could go through before me.
I gave him a small smile, wondering if he remembered me. And he looked straight back into my eyes and said, "Thank you." He held my gaze just long enough for me to wonder whether he was thanking me for the fact that I was holding the door for him, or for what I did for him the week before.
I suppose I'll never really know for sure, but I choose to believe the latter. My silly box isn't that important, after all.
I am approaching this piece with some uncertainty. I fear that my title is over-sensational and sensationalism is something that I do not strive to attain when it comes to these articles. Also, the content of this article (though it was an adventure!) is quite varied from my usual discover-Maine style.
But read on, dear reader, and perhaps you will find it worth your time. I think it might be.
Lifeguarding is a sort of bread-and-butter job for me. Until, of course, the day comes when I break through as a writer, buy the house next to Stephen King's, and write full-time. Our story opens upon an evening that felt like any other, just a normal day of lifeguarding at the indoor pool here in Maine where I work. But then I spotted a young man struggling to swim in the 6ft section.
I kicked off my flip flops in anticipation of being needed, and watched as he struggled doggedly towards deeper water. I readjusted the strap of the lifeguard tube that hung across my chest, making sure that the line would not be in the way, should I have to use it as flotation if things went badly.
When you lifeguard for any amount of time, you learn to look for patterns that could mean that a swimmer is not strong, and this young man was displaying some of these patterns. But I have been wrong before, and after lifeguarding for almost four years, I have only ever pulled one kid out of the water before and it was long ago, and at a pond. I am rarely called upon to use my lifeguard certification for actual lifesaving.
Sure, we retrain often and we know that we might have to go in at any second, but a good lifeguard's job lies mostly in prevention, and the people that frequent indoor pools often know how to swim.
There's less glory than they tell you in the movies.
I continued to watch as he pulled his friend underwater in an effort to stay afloat (I hesitated for a moment then - was he messing around, I wondered?). Then his friend swam away, oblivious. And then, this young man slipped underwater.
I jumped in then, and surprised myself by how quickly I was right above him, (this is why we retrain, I thought to myself) then, using my weight to counterbalance his, I pulled him up and onto my rescue tube.
He had only been under for a few moments, so he didn't cough much. Then looked at me with surprise in his wide eyes and exclaimed,
"I can't swim!"
I almost laughed right then and there. But instead, realizing that such behavior might be inappropriate under the circumstances, I simply asked him if he was alright, and whether he needed help getting to the shallow end or if he could get out at the wall where I had brought him to.
He said he could get out and so he did. Then I did the half hour of paperwork due every time a lifeguard has to jump in (another thing they don't tell you in the movies), then I changed out of my sopping wet clothes, and went home.
No thanks. No glory. That was all. But I don't do it for the thanks, so it doesn't really matter, right?
Right. And besides, he was only acting the way I knew he would - his box demanded it, after all.
You see, we humans enjoy putting people into boxes. Tie the bow nice and tidy, and we won't have to have our world-view questioned. We'll never feel uncomfortable! Pride is so familiar and warm, like a wood fire in a Maine winter.
And this young man was part of a group that comes to my pool every week. I have them all in a comfortable box. They are from a college nearby and they tend to be oblivious to the fact that I just mopped that floor, or that I don't really want to watch them make out during the half hour weekly that I must guard them. Put quite simply, their conduct can be (at times) disorderly at best. That was all there was to them.
Or so I thought.
Until he came back with his group tonight. He had been banished to the shallow end, perhaps been taken down a peg or two, poor guy, but he did come back and that I can certainly respect.
I saw him and made eye contact as I was about to go on deck and relieve the guard that was stationed out there. I saw him just in time to hold the door so that he could go through before me.
I gave him a small smile, wondering if he remembered me. And he looked straight back into my eyes and said, "Thank you." He held my gaze just long enough for me to wonder whether he was thanking me for the fact that I was holding the door for him, or for what I did for him the week before.
I suppose I'll never really know for sure, but I choose to believe the latter. My silly box isn't that important, after all.
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