i have a playlist called “this is a heart song.” it is what it sounds like. a collection of songs that i think were secretly written by my heart. songs that explain the way you feel about the world, about your childhood, about your lover. songs that make you feel understood and seen; like maybe you’re not crazy after all.
one of those songs is september by ayoni. The verse that got it added to the playlist goes like this:
“And when the sun came up Something new had filled your place So im dancing on the train
And im blanking on your name
And my need for you is gone”
i’ve been searching for something for as long as i can remember. that desire to leave, to run, to go is overpowering some days. it’s all i can think about. when i was 18 i left for dc. moved across the country to go to a school that i honestly didn’t know that much about. a back up school my mom had found. six months in, surrounded by some of the best friends i had ever made, the itch came back. the need to go. the city is fun, but i was tired of the noise, of the buildings, of the concrete. sitting with lizzie on the rooftop of my dorm, i said “the buildings make me anxious. i keep waiting for them to fall.”
two weeks later, covid hit. and back to texas i went.
two months, a breakdown, a falling out, and a mistake later, i left texas, too. This time by choice, but i left some shattered hearts behind. hurt people hurt people, and i was hurt. hurt by the world, hurt by my childhood, hurt that i had to move back to texas, hurt that i didn’t like my life. and anger is one heck of a secondary emotion. so i was angry. angry at the boy who loved me for loving me, angry at my mom for being there when all i was craving was independence, angry at the world for forcing me back into my childhood bedroom. Angry and hurt and feeling like i was failing. I wasn’t living up to what i was supposed to be. I was supposed to be successful, living in dc, wearing blazers, becoming president of some random student org. And i was supposed to be HAPPY.
And i wasnt.
So i left.
“A week vacation. That’s it. Ill be back in a week.” I moved to florida with nothing but a backpack.
“Im gonna eat, pray, love for a week.”
“Get some space to regroup.”
I never went home.
My things from dc got shipped to me on a palette. My entire life on a square pile of wood.
Florida is a time warp. New Smyrna Beach, specifically.
time doesn’t exist there the way it does in the rest of the world. It doesn’t move. It’s like ground hog day. seriously. Chains aren’t allowed on the island. We’ve got 7-11, dunkin, best western, and publix. oh, and in the summer we got a starbucks. It is entirely separate from the real world.
and that was great for a little while. when i needed the space to regroup. to eat, pray, love. to pause. and also, during a global pandemic.
but even the seasons don’t change there. there aren’t even seasons.
Florida changed my life. I found God, i fell in love, i shed the idea that i had to go to a fancy school and major in something in STEM to be successful (that whole “good luck finding a job with a liberal arts degree” thing). the entire direction of my life changed in florida. i left my fancy school, i abandoned crop tops, and realized an army of barefoot babies is infinitely better than heels and blazers.
some stuff went to sh*t, naturally. i got my heart broken, i got really lonely, a few people i love dearly had some scary health complications. I’ll spare you the dirty deets, but my life there has always been in some pretty intense turmoil.
and then i woke up. just all the sudden. i picked my head up off the pillow and realized a year and a half has gone by since i left texas. the world is reopening, and it’s leaving me behind. my life has still been on pause in this tiny little town in florida, and i miss the real world. Terribly.
so i popped back in to dc for a sec. back into my old life. my old friends, my old coffee shops, my old red brick sidewalks. and returning to something and someone that you know and knows you is magic. having friends that are unafraid to call you on your ish is better — aditi rao, you are my lifeline. I wrote a poem about it (i’ll toss it at the end). It was a lovely trip, but that isn’t my life anymore. I’ve outgrown that one. my direction changed. It’s not quite home.
And man oh man, the itch is back. It’s back, it’s strong, And for the first time in my life, i’ve got complete freedom. no, seriously.
complete freedom.
so. I don’t know where i’m headed next. I really don’t.
But i think it’s time i get a little lost, and a little found.
also, i decided it’s about dang time i do what i have always loved more than anything, and what makes me feel like i actually belong in this world. And that, my friends, is to freakin WRITE. So i changed my major to english lit, bought a poetry journal, and started a blog. Welcome to it.
metro poem:
everyone always talks about the anonymity of big cities the ability to be someone completely new
to lose your old self
to dance on the metro
to take cringey pictures
because nobody knows you
there’s no embarrassment
there’s freedom in anonymity
but nobody talks about the familiarity. the knowing.
the same blue seats and monotone voice on the blue line. the same 4 stops.
the same sidewalks.
the same pizza.
the same close friends.
there’s freedom in anonymity,
but there’s peace in the knowing.
in returning.
the tourists may come & go,
and nobody may give you a second glance on the train. but the city never changes.
the monuments hold their ground,
the stoplights beep,
the metro doors close,
and I come home.