A Little Hope

I've been reading articles at Julien's site for a few months now. In fact, it prompted me to start my journey into being a minimalist. Recently, he decided to start posting Homework assignments. If you want, you can read through all of them here, but the one that got me was Assignment VIII. The assignment was this:

This week’s homework is a part of a practice of detachment. Throw out or give away the most important item you can stand to get rid of. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure what I’m going to be doing this with. It’s a threatening thing to even think about– to get rid of something you actually like but don’t need– but in some cases, it’s necessary. You’ll flinch when you’re about to throw it out. So it may be easier to just choose someone to give something away to. But even that, in a way, is copping out. Whichever way you choose to do this, get rid of something significant.

I chuckled at the thought of getting rid of things that are nice, but not needed; I'm a minimalist. I'm always cycling through the things I own or have and asking "Do I need this?" "Do I really want this?" and handling them accordingly. It's been my thing now for a long time and I don't see myself going back anytime soon.

Fast forward a few weeks and a few experiences later and I dig up this thought: what if I deleted this journal? My heart skipped beats. Not just one or two, but five. My breath caught. I became teary-eyed. It's not just history, although I'm sure that's the reason most people would be upset about losing their journal, I have another thing. A deeper thing.

It started in fifth grade. I picked up a few pieces of paper and I stapled them together and that was the beginning of two decades of journaling and writing down my feelings. There are many reasons that I've gathered over the years as to why I journaled, but there are three things at the core of my reasons and they hit hard that day:

1. I wanted to be remembered.
2. I wanted to be respected and understood.
3. I wanted to be accepted as-is.

That started my path. I tried to find these things in people -- family and friends alike -- and realized at an early age that, because I'm a guy, I'll just have to settle for a piece of paper for the things I wish. I had emotional awareness and sensitivity that was considered to be abnormal for a male in general and definitely for one of my age; I'm still considered abnormal by a large margin in those respects.

As I grew up, I made friends. I continue to make friends; I'm a likable guy. The thing is, even among my closest friends, there are limits. Things that can't be said. I'm so analytical and so emotional at the same time it can be a bit daunting. I think and feel in ways other people don't. I've had people straight up walk away from me when I told them how I feel about something that makes me sad. I won't even begin to think about the things that people think when I'm angry or depressed. In short, I learned that I have to hide a bit of myself away in order to have anyone decide to stick around.

Because of this, I find myself hanging on to a journal some twenty years later. I truly feel that I need it.

I suppose you thought that would be the end of things, but it isn't. My heart yearns for more. I want a relationship where I can be all of myself without fear with another human being. I talked to someone about this a bit yesterday. 

We talked about the truth and I said that all truth hurts. I repeat: all truth hurts. I remember being in the car with Daniel, John and Sven as we rode home from John's home in Virginia in fall of 2005. About a quarter of the way through the trip, someone said that they loved me. The thing is, I could feel that they meant it. That hurt a lot. It takes a special kind of person to be able to understand that pain. To have years upon years of doubt in the ability for someone to see you and truly love you as you are without modification and then to have someone start to peel up the smallest bit of it... It is very hard to describe to anyone and harder to understand if you haven't felt it before. I sobbed until my head hurt and, thankfully, everyone in the car was able to understand that feeling that day.

Why do I say truth hurts? Because exposure to truth most times requires restructuring in our hearts and minds. If you know anything about restructuring, then you know that there is a destruction process and a creation process. Destruction is painful because you have to step out and dissemble a structure that you've depended on for one thing or another for a long time. Creation requires you to take out a hammer and nails and beat things into place until they stick. Those processes hurt.

I had to pause during this conversation just like I've had to pause during this writing because, in sum, this is hard stuff to write. Hard.

I thought about the times I've written in this journal that I find myself wishing for the relationships I see in so many cartoons. The friend I was speaking with said that it's a fantasy thing and that's the curse that any fantasy fan bears; we want something that isn't real. My problem is that the thing I want is both real and possible and there is no reason that I cannot have that thing. When I watch a movie with people with superpowers, I enjoy them, but I do not yearn for them. My heart doesn't ache to be a wizard or a telekinetic, but give me an episode where one friend sacrifices for another or where you just see two people being loyal to each other in the small details of life or two people that are able to be real and honest and open with each other no matter what and they know that, whether it's bad or good, their friend will always be there for them, no matter what... Give me that and I tear up every single time. I even become jealous of those characters. Not in a way that makes me hate them, but in a way that makes me question, "Where is my part?"

I started to tear up thinking about how many "I love you"s I have to ignore. It doesn't mean a lot coming from most people, especially when I know that the phrase these days usually means:

• I like you a great deal
• I find you entertaining at the moment
• The idea of having sex with you -- once or multiple times -- is a pleasing one
• I'm happy that you do things that I want you to do
• I enjoy the benefits that your talent/knowledge brings to me
• Thanks for being an open ear
• Thanks for relieving my boredom and/or loneliness
• I want you to do things for me in the future, so I'll make this emotional comment here as a deposit

I want that person that enjoys my being as it is. I don't want to need this journal all of my life. I want to be able to speak my feelings without fear of people disappearing or condemnation. I know it's hard. I know it's rare. I also know that rare and hard means that it is possible. Having something of that quality in reach is hard to bear when all you are really asking for is for someone to really love you back. I don't want to be jealous of cartoon characters...

At the same time, the alternatives are frightening. I could take a step out and choose to trust and believe. To jump from the height of Angel Falls and believe that the wings of love and friendship will sweep me up. To fight through the process of digging and developing that friendship, but...

What if this person that I seek really doesn't exist? What if I never find someone that understands me, respects me, and accepts all that I am without conditions other than God and these digital pieces of paper that I write on?

You think these feelings and fears go away, but they never do. They just grow inside of you. We're grown-ups, though. We have work to do and bills to pay and lives to lead and I get all of that, but my heart needs tending, too. This is just the result of one person dealing with this two decades later (and every year before this one) and finally willing to climb this mountain again just to see what happens.

I want to tell you that I cried last night at this thought for a while. I haven't shed tears in a long time, but even at 30, this gets to me. I'm not even asking for a lover right now. That would be nice, but I'm fine without that type of relationship. I'm just looking for that particular friend everyone seems to have but me. They may be lurking around the bend waiting for me to ask the best of them to show itself forth. This is that moment. I want the rarest of things and I can't be sated with other things. That could be rough on one hand, but on the other, it might be nice to not feel like I have to write here when my feelings are the darkest. How much better would it be if I had arms to hold me and a shoulder to cry on or an ear to yell in and know that those same arms and ears will be there after the storm ends to watch the sun rise with me?

A lot better, if you ask me.