something genuinely insane about going somewhere and getting to feel “i had some of the worst years of my life here” and “i was loved here, once” simultaneously.
the structure rots and the plants reclaim. But i remember
“don’t go where i can’t follow” is literally the most romantic thing anyone has ever said. it’s like. i’ll let you bring me anywhere—far from home, far from the places and people i love, so long as you stay with me. i’ll let you walk into danger and through hell, but i will not let you go where i can’t go with you. that is where i draw the line.
yes, even you. reading this, agreeing without applying, hands in front of your eyes. i’ll pass this on, you think, but it doesn’t apply to me.
i know because i have spent the last 2 weeks trying to say out loud: “i deserve good things.” i only get to “i deserve g-” and then i break out into a cold sweat. who am i to deserve anything? there are people out there suffering. there are people out there who need good things to happen. i don’t deserve anything. i am just a person. a filament. if a good thing was supposed to happen to me, i hope it passes over and happens to someone more - deserving.
but just because you can endure the present does not mean it should be something so painful.
you deserve a tender tomorrow for the same reason you deserve water, food, or air. you deserve it for the effort of survival. you are surviving, aren’t you? doesn’t it take a toll from you, staying here?
goodness and kindness and tenderness should not be a commodity; to be doled out in quantities. you should not feel that life exists as supply-and-demand - your happiness does not come at the cost of someone else. it does not take from some gallon of global happiness. it does not promise that a stranger will have an equally-tragic reaction to tip the scales back into balance.
there is just you, deserving. you didn’t have to earn it. there is no calculation of time-enjoyed versus time-spent-suffering.
I can’t tell you where or how to activate to help solve this. There are politicians, groups, and activists pushing for this in so many ways. I can tell you when, though.
i. there’s this phrase: bloom where you are planted.
ii. something i should maybe talk to my therapist about is that all of my daydreams involve me helping people. when i picture meeting celebrities, i’m usually just suggesting therapy to them. there’s just not a lot left for me to get out of this world, i feel like - like with this time left i might as well use it for kindness.
iii. according to the gardening map, i was raised in Zone 6 of plant hardiness. i think that’s kind of funny. i am good with plants, and keep too-many of them. i learned young about the colors of hydrangeas - how you cant tell the pH of the soil by it.
iv. they tore down both of the schools i attended as a kid. most of the forests we walked in have been turned into apartment complexes. there’s nothing really left of the places i’ve been.
v. tumbleweeds are liminal things - they are carcasses that carry their seeds along with them. a plant that evolved to move. we have so much to learn about nature, and the way that happenstance creates miracles. can you imagine the beauty of that? i think so often about how the roots of a tree often take up the same shape and circumference of its branches. i think so much about carnivorous plants; those that eat with no stomach. about where plants store their “knowledge.”
vi. i’m not going to write about who i was or what i did to myself before i left. only three things, which will make sense if you are the type of person i buried in that ditch. the first is that i ended up getting tattoos to cover it. the second is that setting boundaries still makes me uneasy. and the third is that i am constantly shocked at the fact i have actually made it to the place where i’m happy.
vii. there’s this ongoing joke amongst those of us who keep plants: you don’t really get a say in whether or not the plant wants to be dead. i’m excellent at orchids, but i kill every ivy i’ve ever met. i have been rotating one particular rescue plant around my apartment, trying to figure out what exactly is the right amount of sun for it. the truth is that sometimes things will never survive being kept.
viii. i used to daydream about joining the circus. about an alien abduction. i used to picture meeting celebrities and whispering please fucking get me out of this. did you know the quote originally came from a bishop? when i googled it, google told me the meaning is don’t take what you have for granted. make the most of what you are given.
ix. sometimes i think about my 17 year old self. it’s been happening a lot lately. i keep watching her through my memories, how she clawed herself raw, scratching at the walls. we got out, is the thing. i know we thought about staying. but oh, fuck dude: we could have never bloomed if we’d stayed planted.
sometimes i think too hard about the way that we make mistakes of care. that love can enter into the air and warp.
in 1890, a man loved shakespeare so much he released 60 european starlings into Central Park. in shakespeare’s work, you see, these birds often take stage as allegories for melody and grace. their wings carry flecks of light. and sometimes, i cannot blame him - what could be wrong about feathers and poetry? this is love sometimes, i think. the way we fill so much up with hope that we are blinded by the flock of it. we want a world sank deep in it. rustling with it.
my aubela liked the saying too much of a good thing. in spanish, it’s actually lo mucho cansa - too much tires. for a long time, as a child, the idea was so startling to me. how can i have too much joy? too much laughter? too much love?
european starlings are now an invasive species that threaten the livelihood of native wildlife. in poetry, we call the turn from one theme to another “the volta” - where the story suddenly twists and becomes a new shape. there is a wikipedia page about this man’s singular action.
the way i learned to hurt myself was by slamming myself against life as an expression of love. how could i be depressed if i simply was always polite, and charming, and down to have fun? if i was the funniest, kindest, most-available person? there is no such thing as being too much of a good friend, right? if i am always the one planning the party and being available and lending an ear. how can a person be too good at loving others?
i love grackles. i know other people find them ugly. they’re just so sleek and beautiful. i love red-winged blackbirds and chickadees and sparrows. to be honest - i love starlings too.
my heart is central park and all the birds are singing. i love being called good-natured, it makes me feel like i’m winning. i will always be perfect, be lovely, be full of poetry.
my heart is central park and winter is bowing fingers into the fall leaves. something in me is buried badly. if i ignore it, i can cover the smell of rotting.
ALT
