Never Lonely

I am an independent person; I always have been. I learned how to tie my shoes in the back of the closet while my mother did chores in the kitchen. I learned how to do my own laundry when I was left home alone one day. I choose what college(S) I would attend without advice from anyone. I've been to a countless number of movies by myself, ate at a countless number of restaurants by myself. I've never been someone who felt scared or vulnerable if I didn't have someone to talk to, and the fear of ending up without a partner isn't so strong as to allow me to settle for anything but that "moves mountains" kind of love. I like walking alone. I like reading alone. I like being alone. This isn't to say that I don't play nice with others, I very much enjoy the company of people; however, I rarely feel the relentless need for it.

I have lived in New York City for three months...and I have never been alone. (It's not a surprising fact, as New York City has 8+ million people jammed into 469 square miles, and the place I currently call home has 60+ people jammed into 1900 square feet.) Even when I strive to be alone, I feel like I am endlessly tethered to other human beings. When I walk home from work, I'm thinking about what stranger is walking behind me. When I go to the cafe, I'm thinking about the people that just walked in and want my table or I'm thinking about the employee at the counter and if I need to buy something more. When I take a shower, I'm thinking about how many other people are sitting outside that door waiting to brush their teeth or to shower themselves; even in the times when I'm technically the only person in the room, I'm still not truly alone.

I have noticed that my writing (for this blog, or for school, or for my own personal pursuits) has been a real struggle lately. At first I thought that it was solely because my life was in upheaval, and it made sense to me that my writing would reflect that state of upheaval; however, I've come to realize that it has a lot more to do with my recent incapability to be lonely. I need to have moments were I am completely alone to be completely myself.

On November 1st I move into a kick-ass apartment, where I will have my own room and I will finally be able to be completely alone. New York City has taught me a ceaseless number of lessons already, but beyond all those lessons, I'm still me! and the me that I know (and love) needs to have moments of solidarity. While I have a great desire to learn and grow here, I have an even greater desire to not forget about, or sacrifice, the woman that I've worked so hard to become. I really like that I am independent and I can't wait til I get to accommodate that independent part of myself. Hopefully, this blog will get back to its regularly scheduled programming - sorry for its sporadic, if not absent, presence as of late!

But Love

Occasionally, my father emails me. When these emails find their way into my inbox, they always look the same; the subject line says something like "how are you?" or "how's the job" and then there is nothing in the actual email. I rarely respond because I'm fairly certain that these emails are only constructed because people are asking about me and he doesn't have anything to say, and that doesn't boast so well for his picture perfect image.

Recently, I've received a lot of chastisement over the blatant lack of communication that I have with my father and since he's the one that initiates the emails, the communication controversy is apparently my fault, but I'm not about to participate in small talk with a man that I don't know just because it's what everyone else thinks I should be doing or because it's the thing that will aid in my father's ability to appear perfect. Does he actually or honestly want to be a part of my life? Blank emails aren't really an indication of genuine concern...blank emails are an indication that he checked me off his daily to-do list.

I am not going to be someone's inconvenience and that's what his emails feel like; a means to control the inconvenience of not appearing perfect.

I grew up in a "But Love" environment, meaning that the only time I ever heard the phrase 'I Love You' is if it was preceded by the word 'but.' I would get myself into trouble, receive a lecture/punishment, and then my parents would ritualistically declare: "but we still love you." But Love is the only context that I had for love, so for most of my life I understood love only as something that was explicitly tied to guilt.

While everyone in my father's life might believe that I'm wrong in refusing to respond to his subject line correspondence, I'm not replying because I'm done feeling guilty. My father has made it clear that he doesn't approve of my "lifestyle choice" or most of the other choices that I've made in my life, so the only thing that he has left to offer me his But Love... but I am NOT a child! I'm not going to feel guilty that the kind of love I've chosen to participate in (the lesbian kind) inconveniences his life. I'm not going to feel guilty that I dropped out of school at the exact moment that my mother chose to drop out of their marriage. I'm not going to feel guilty that I moved to the other side of the country without waving goodbye. The choices that I've made were, and are, mine and I've taken responsibility for them. If he only wants to offer me his But Love, he can keep it, because I am going to feel guilty no longer.