It’s a new month – October – and I guess that’s the sort of thing that makes me feel nostalgic, like I’d like to be freezing in the bleachers at my high school football field with the field lights making the glitter in my eyelashes sparkle. In those moments the kitsch of suburbia becomes a little more magical.
In the past year I’ve felt a lot of things. It’s easy to write the words down but hard to define them. I’ll try, anyway.
I’ve felt responsible: the weight of being by yourself can cause your knees to buckle, your joints to crack, a veritable firework of strain.
I’ve felt powerless: when the proverbial rug is pulled out from under you it’s possible you’ll lose your footing.
I’ve felt guilt: spinning plates is hard enough; when someone clears the table and leaves you with their dishes, too? Porcelain is bound to shatter.
I’ve felt love: It knows what you need before you need it. It’s an unexpected phone call. It’s the cheese plate your roommate has waiting after work, and the open bottle of wine.
Love is also the luxury of waking up in your own bed and knowing that the day is your own. Knowing that you are a creature capable of laughter and tears and curiosity. You have desires. You have questions. You can go wherever your legs can carry you. It’s learning to sit in a movie theater by yourself. It’s not feeling self-conscious spending extra time in the Cézanne exhibit.
I’ve felt relief: the realization that I’m going to be okay. It’s that simple.
And now there’s this new month.
I don’t want a repeat of the life I’ve lived before. It’s always been easy for me to slip into new roles; to erase names from a book and replace them with new ones.
I want to write a whole new adventure. And that’s a little anxiety-inducing: wanting to start fresh, to lay myself bare, to be honest and open. All flaws and shortcomings on display. To showcase why I am the way that I am, to hope that I’m still wanted? It’s terrifying. But if the last few months have shown me anything, they’ve shown me that I’m capable of standing on my own two feet. I’m ready for something big, and I’m sure of that.