My little boy looks at me with big blue eyes, reaches out his hands and cries “Mama”. My little boy rolls and laughs when I tickle his belly, explores all the sounds his mouth can make and delights in the new joys of having teeth. My little boy crawls fast and gets excited every time he hears an airplane fly overhead. My little boy doesn’t take naps easily and still wakes up several times a night…but I love sleeping with him and spooning my little baby. I love soothing him when he’s upset and I love his little sweet smile that he flashes all day long. My little boy is full of joy and I sing all day long. I hope I never stop singing for him.
I feel oppressed by all of our stuff. All of our endless piles of possessions we have filled our house with. I get so tired of taking care of it all. I wish we could pare down…live smaller…more simply…but Jeff doesn’t seem to understand that idea.
I’m sure I’ll always be embarrassed by what I wrote 10 years ago. 5 years ago.
But I also maintain this concept of the whole of me. Not being ashamed. Recognizing a human as a complex piece of varying colors that oftentimes don’t even blend together. All of the thousands of truths I have carried. The ones that have dissipated and the ones I can’t even understand how I ever believed. But here I go. Still rolling and rambling and rushing towards myself. Always maintaining myself, always losing bits of myself, always gaining new bits…never being complete, never being a sliver – somehow always being whole in the minute split section of a moment of time that I am occupying in this section of the universe that is Lauren. How strange it is to be anything at all.
I’m also amazed by how much changes in 5 years. How much stays the same. How vastly different my life is from 5 years ago. How 5 years ago I could never, never imagine all the things that would happen to me. All of the tunnels I would spin myself through and all of the magic I would accumulate. And this little boy. I never saw him coming, that’s for sure. I suppose I did have a certain imagination of how my life was going to unfold…and it’s the most cliche thing to say…but nothing really happened like I thought it would. I always heard adults saying that sort of thing to me…but I always imagined that I would be different. That I would somehow be able to tread this path of wild incandescence that I had painted for myself…but life is actually much more grand. Much more mysterious. Much more complex and riddled with possibility than I even knew.
I can’t even believe that Bobby ever happened. I just…can’t even believe he was ever a part of my life. Or Peter. I literally cannot even remember now feeling the way I did about them at the time. They are such shadows of shadows of shadows of a much weaker Lauren I don’t even recognize or remember. It’s amazing how everything washes up to shore. What ends up being important and what is not. How things can mean so much in some moment in time…and then dissipate. How things serve their purpose…to take you to a place, or to teach you what you need to learn, or to shape and mold your heart in the way it needs to be shaped in order for the next hands to be able to grasp it…and then these things fly out in the wind. Rain down in the wind and evaporate. So much seems to have dissipated now. So much I never expected to dissipate.
And having a heart that can hold so many things. That’s been a struggle.
And what do I want. So many things. So many things I can’t have. So many things I can’t have back.
I have to resolve myself to the horizon. That I can be better. That things can be better. That I can make better choices. That I can be more brave. More honest, true, creative and productive. I can be the person that I imagine myself to be. I can find reality and middle ground and striving and fulfillment. I can straddle all of these boundary lines. And I can find the pain of being alive as well. Cherish all those hard edges and the terrifying nature of time. I’m not scared of growing old. I’m not scared of dying. I’m not scared of being adult. I like being an adult. I like this sense of autonomy…I like dealing with reality and not the bullshit that young people obsess upon. I like having context. But I also can’t deny that something is lost, something is always lost. Some magic spark of naivety, of having no context, of the meaning-machine sucking you in. But it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok. I am riding this wagon wheel to the edge of where it is taking me. I want all the chapters and sections and moments of life. I want every stage and every age and every heartache and growth and discovery. It is a difficult transition when it feels like few others are willing to walk into the transition with you…but I am still walking.
I have to allow myself that space to remember…I could still be anything. Anyone. I could still go wherever I like. I have to move myself away from this feeling of being trapped. It’s the only way I’ll be able to approach this world with any reality.
I’ve watched love fall apart enough times now…but I still can’t tie into a neat bundle exactly how it happens. But there is always some part of faith that goes missing. And I think perhaps…if two people were willing to commit to their faith in each other and in their relationship. Commit to recognition, reflection, re-invigoration. And there was enough faith. And enough communication. And enough giving. And enough receiving. That love could last. Love could remain beautiful on all the edges. That you could really remain in love. I suppose honesty is a good place to start.
I need to find a new vocabulary I’ve never used before. Create a way of framing things in my mind I haven’t used before. Stop habituating the same way of placing things into categories and imagining that the box is somehow big enough to contain everything in some logical way. It never is. It never is. And it is all so complicated. And that’s ok.
There’s no need for me to judge anyone. Especially myself.
How do I attain happiness without stagnation?
Well I still say fuck happiness. I want fulfillment and the fullness of life over happiness.