So. I miss Boston. Like a lot.

When I think about Boston, beyond several negative factors and experiences I’ve had there, I’m filled with such emotion I don’t even know what to do with it. And I’m not sure if it’s just nostalgia, how I feel that that’s the place I really grew up, or what, but it fills me with an aching, a longing for something. I think what it is is connection. It’s community.

Maybe this is an unpopular opinion or maybe I’m too emotional for my own good (definitely true) but there is something really wrong with our socialization into total individuality. Just doing you and carving out a life for yourself alone and away from everyone and everything you know is highly romanticized. This is not to say it can’t work out for some people or be a necessary change, a chance. Being alone can do wonderful things for you, but there is nothing glamorous or brave about an existence of loneliness for capitalistic ideas of success or simply image, nor the whole host of things we do to pacify ourselves into being okay with desperate unhappiness and lack of connection and fulfillment. It is not noble. It’s just empty.

And I feel empty. I feel I am in the conundrum of infinite possibility/opportunity and complete disengagement, of void. Boston was the first place I felt I had a home that was a real place other than something I built inside myself, and I’ve completely disallowed myself from even thinking about Boston for the sake of wanting my new start to work out, for not wanting to ‘move backwards.’ I recently let myself just think about the possibility of moving back and it’s brought a flood of panic and complicated and conflicting emotions and thoughts. But I just want to put it out into the universe that I am thinking about it. That our ideas of the finality of things is all mental. That you can let love and change in, no matter how painful it may feel.

Today, I am painfully opening myself to both the memory and the prospect of Boston. And I don’t know what to do with it, certainly not just all in my head. I need connection. I need something. I need to air this out with someone.

(more on this later)


the quiet and the in-between

So much happens in the pause — the space between words, the silence of a commute, the breath before sleep. I am always surprised at where I find myself in these moments. I realize I am just a body, vulnerable and subject to external circumstances, wherever I get myself into and out of and through. My body in the belly of cars, planes, and buses; in the caves of random rooms; the swallow of abandoned streets and mountainsides and subway cars; the hollow of anonymity. I preside in the stomachs of a million little worlds unknown to me and myself unknown. I am an agent in the hunger of it all. I am the only witness to my existence. I am the protagonist and a swathe of supporting characters and the forgettable extra and just outside the lens, missed completely. I am all of these things and nothing. I see happy people and I feel both confused and warm; I see security and I feel both pity and jealousy; I see pain and I feel both at home and alienated. I live in the duality of everything. I want what I don’t want and I don’t want what I want. If you asked me how I feel, I’d say conflicted. I am here, and I am somewhere else entirely at any given moment. What makes a life a life? What makes somebody real? I just want to be seen. I just want to be seen. Look down the throat of life and you’ll see me carried and carving out a place for myself in the cavern between starving and fullness, just beneath the heart, rummaging in the dark so close to the pulse of everything.