It just hit me, at 4:35 AM on an overnight bus from Madrid to Cordoba--the book, my book, has been here all along. It’s been bubbling under the surface, hidden in between the lines, waiting for me to stumble upon it in my own time.
It’s more than relationships, it’s life--the complicated, ever changing, obstacle course of finding out who you are. They say write what you know. What I know is, it took me 23 years to figure out what I’m about.
I’m asked which character is which in my book, and the truth is--it’s bits and pieces of everything. When I first started writing the central relationships, I found myself dumbfounded--how was I supposed to write a ‘can’thavehimbutwanthimcrush’ when I’m not that guy? How can I write a good on paper when I’m a girl on the other end? I reached out to my guy friends for input, stumped even further because they aren’t those guys either. I know what it feels like to be on the other side, so I’m writing what I know. I’ve spent my life listening to my friends and their own series of dating disasters as well, creating an accessible library of drama, tears, and lessons.
So, I’m writing what I know. I’m not writing myself or writing my friends, people are too complicated to be summed up neatly on black and white pages, but I’m writing things we all know, my friends and I, and what we’ve all experienced.
The Preface is a big question mark. I’ve struggled with the idea of the grand gesture since the beginning. It’s been lurking behind movie screens and revealing itself in romantic novels for as long as I can remember. It came to me, oddly, on another long overnight bus from Madrid to Cordoba. I was thinking about the “head slaps” of my past, the grand gestures I couldn’t see and the grand gestures I couldn’t make because I wasn’t sure of myself, wasn’t myself just yet.
It took a village to teach me the difference between solitude and loneliness, 7 countries to make me realize nothing can be planned and that I’m more spontaneous than I remembered, several various cuisines to make me acknowledge the truth that things aren’t always what they seem and 5 months on my own to finally believe, “it’s enough, I’m enough.”
So, truth--after the winter of the 100 year storm I lost myself. The cold crept in and froze me in an emotional mine field, never knowing which step was going to take another part of me. I tried my best to keep moving, not wanting confront what was behind me. Two years later, with “too much time to think” I’ve had time to rediscover myself away from the emotional land mines. This is going to sound strange, but I have a vivid memory of meeting with this therapist and her asking me what had changed about me since my Dad... I still don’t know the words to describe that, but I looked at her after thinking for a minute and I realized, “I used to be silly.” It may not seem substantial, but it is. Laughter is the ointment to my wounds, and I couldn’t remember the last time I was genuinely lighthearted and playful. Of course, I have my weird moments --(“You’re so weird” I can still hear Amy saying it haha) but I hadn’t really felt it, in my core.
When I was in Seville in September, I took a picture of two children playing in the street. I love that photo and I didn’t know exactly why at the time. I thought about it and I realized I envied their freedom, how much life they had in them, living in the moment, for the moment.
I think the reason I was so scared to come to Spain was because part of me knew what I would be facing. When I got stitches in my leg, I remember the Doctor telling me, “You need to look at your wound, so you understand what happened. It’s better to know.” I thought he was absurd at the time, but now I get it, we can’t fully heal until we’ve accepted what we’re working with. That scar is apart of me now, I used to feel self conscious about it, but over time it’s healed more and become less noticeable. Somedays, I forget it’s there. We all have weaknesses, but addressing them and accepting them helps us work around them, with them.
For me, sometimes accepting the truth, the reality, can be the most difficult part. I think sometimes we wish things were different so we try and will it to be different instead of acknowledging “it is, what it is” and maybe that’s okay. It struck me Sophomore year of college when I read, “Whatever is, is right” and it still rings true with me today. I tried, so hard to change myself to adjust to my circumstances, instead of just letting myself be in the circumstances. With my Dad, it would be things like “I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I don’t want it to hurt everyday, forever.” We all know I rarely follow advice, I take it and then go with my original plan. I guess this was like everything else, I had to discover the truth in it in my own time, for me; saying it hurts doesn’t make me weak and it doesn’t enable my father, it is what it is, a broken heart. I have a broken heart but I’m still walking, smiling, living. And if I’m not healed wholly now, then I will be soon.
I feel right now, solid. What a strange thing to say, that I haven’t been myself in 2 1/2 years--but it’s the truth, however much I dislike admitting it. Being here, without being able to distract myself, made me get to know myself again. So strange to explain. Anyway, I’m working on writing what I’ve found out about these things, about everything and nothing at the same time.
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