never · perfect · always · honest

The next big thing is bubbling up inside of me.  Or just swelling to the point where I can't ignore it anymore.  It fills the space between my ribs, it jumps into my throat, and it makes me want to stand up and shake.  I can't be stagnant, bored, tired, reluctant, reticent, complacent or simple.  The momentum that moves me has decidedly taken away my choice in the matter.  Whatever is going on is bigger than me, and you can't fuck with that.  

When you can touch something or someone and find that flash of love in the moment between seconds, you realize that you are equipped with the only skills you need.  Confidence and perception are blinding and irrefutable.  

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

My whole world is screaming because it so antsy and tired of sitting still.

Every time I say or think, "I never imagined my life this way" or "I just don't feel like this is my life", I'm being an asshole.

This is my life.  Who the fuck has their life follow that tidy little plan that they set out, or better yet, how satisfied does that tidy little plan make them in the end?  I'm always grossed out when people go on these big tirades about how their entitled to shit (ie. Even though I make minimum wage I feel entitled to go into debt for a pair of overpriced jeans), but I guess my idea of my actual life compared to my calculated life is guilty of the same thing.  What I felt entitled to, or thought I deserved, didn't necessarily come to fruition, and I take that as a sign the universe has irreparably slighted me in some way.  For better or worse, easy or trying, this life is all mine and I owe myself and everyone around me a little bit more respect. 

I had this bizarre talk with my love the other night.  It was outrageously honest, and indicative of where we are. This mutual exchange of fear and ideas (mostly fear), and this totally refreshing conclusion that life is totally fucked up and neither of us can take it personally.  I get stuck in these little hamster wheels of thought where idiotic, obsessive thoughts haunt me.  "Do I make him happy, do I make myself happy, are we ok, are we not ok".  I imagine that's all normal stuff to think about, but I think, too, that I need to let my heart rely on the truth of our love.  It's not perfect, and sometimes it's not pretty, but for whatever reason it keeps chugging along.  In a year that has seen many changes for both of us, and soon entering another year with just as many in store for us, it's so wonderful to know that our deep, horizontal, unshakable love is woven through it all.

Today, on the way home, the sun hid behind these clouds that looked like freshly tilled soil.  It hung there like an obvious secret, or a poorly buried treasure.  Because we look at the sky everyday, we accept the sun to be constant and unchanging, and we also accept the clouds to be unique from one day to the next.  Our complacency with the sky, and the order of the atmosphere comes from an unquestioning faith in 'the way things are'. 

There are many things in life that are the way they are 'just because'.  And sometimes these things are fine, and sometimes they're not.  And most of the time we become complacent with them if they happen frequently and long enough.  Objectivity is an easy thing to misplace.  Should something jar you out of your own life, though, and make you look everything around you with an honest eye, it's not hard to be surprised with what's become of you.  There can be wonderful realizations, like cherishing something you realized you had taken for granted, and there can be moments of embarrassment when you see how you have strayed so far from the person you thought yourself to be.

And then...what do you do? 

Writing, for me, has been a weird experience.  I never really knew I had it in me, went through a brief period where I thought it was absolutely my calling in life, an even longer period where I wrote everything that came to mind, and now to a point where I don't really write much at all.
I can't help but feel a sadness about not maintaining an active record of my life, but that is manageable and negligible.  What has become interestingly absent is the sadness I used to feel when I didn't write because I thought that I'd never get better or figure myself out or become renowned or whatever it was I was using writing to accomplish. 
By me coming back here tonight, only two months after my last attempt at journaling, I realize that writing is something that is part of me.  Whether I'm good at it or if it is going to solve world hunger or cure AIDS or even if anyone reads it is beyond extraneous.  I've got words inside that need to make their way out. 

Life is so strange right now.  I can hardly believe that I'll look back on today and have a qualitative opinion about it, but I always have.  What a strange way I've become accustomed to living my life.  No real judgments about whether things are going well or poorly, just astonishment at how surreal, hilarious and bizarre things tend to be.  I always look back, though, and think "wow, was i in deep emotional shit there", or "wow, what a blast that mess was".  So maybe life is just strange. Not just now, but forever. 

Time to go join my partner in all this absurdity in the land of silence and memory foam.

If you believe in a higher power, a requisite belief that usually follows is that we're all intentionally created to be unique, original individuals.  That we're all aiming for a similar goal (happiness?), but that through the divine wisdom of whatever/whomever, we're all taking different roads to the end.  Why, then, are we so obsessed with ranking ourselves amongst our peers?  The measurements we use are as equally as confusing, as their abundance or absence really don't seem to matter in any theological context.  Money, power, success; seems as though we're all headed in the same direction, and we're arriving at our own individual pace, regardless of what we do for a living. 

My life has changed quite dramatically in the last six months.  That I lack objectivity in my life goes without saying, so until tonight, I would have been extremely reluctant to use any word like 'dramatically' to describe the changes around me.  As more and more people comment on how I've immediately become a grown-up, I can't help but wonder what they're getting at?  To me, the changes are merely circumstantial, and material, but perhaps I'm naive.  Maybe along with the changes in my life, I've changed, too.  I've noticed I'm more serious.  Less emotionally volatile.  I write less, but plan more.  I worry as much as I used to.  I love in a different way than I used to, too.  I appreciate time with my family more than I ever have.  Maybe I have suddenly entered into some new stage of adulthood.  Maybe the reason I have adjusted so quickly is because this has always been what I wanted, and now that I'm living the life I dreamed of throughout High School and University, I am simply comfortable.  There is no doubt that every ounce of experience and interaction has lead me to exactly where I am today, but I really have to question whether or not I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. 

Right place at the right time?  Determinism or coincidence?  Great questions.  I'm still not a grown-up enough to have the answers to those.

as the days begin to blend together, seamlessly becoming a life lived, i always turn back to you.  those moments between 7:00am and & 7:20am when i sneak back into bed with you for one last embrace are cherished memories, one day outdoing but never replacing the next.  watching you prepare yourself for the day; your ritual.  recognizing something that will annoy you a split second before you tell me so.  scrapping with you over the funniest things.  scrapping with you for fun.  singing.  dancing.  caw-cawing.  living.

i've never known this kind of love.  it's a constant presence, but the way it ebbs and flows is remarkable.  some days it's a quiet love filled with simple gestures and forgettable events, and somedays, like today, it's such an overwhelmingly satisfying love, i feel like i truly am one of the lucky ones. 

some people look at my life with you and think "how domestic, how boring".  others think "how romantic, how lovely".  pity and envy; we've heard it all.  but fuck if it isn't perfect for us.

It was almost a year ago when I felt as low as I'd ever been.  It was after watching him crawl out the window, denying everything that had taken place that night, and the years before.  I felt completely worthless, and so disappointed in myself.  I realized a very harmful side of who I am: the perpetual placator.  This unending desire to make sure everything is ok; that everyone is ok.  Often, at the expense of me being ok.

I drove home that night, and parked in my usual spot along the curb.  I sat in my car, with the windows rolled down, sobbing.  I struggled to grasp what I could have done differently, and why all of my hoping and good intentions couldn't make him love me the way I loved him.  I decided that there had to be an answer, that life shouldn't have to be that difficult.  It finally dawned on me, today, that that was the answer.  Life doesn't have to be that difficult.  That the choice for life's difficulties largely rest on my shoulders.  My life is a product of my choices, or at the very least how I react to the choices of others. 

This whole line of thought leads me to a rather embarrassing reality.  How internally lazy I've become.  The goals and motivations that once pulsed in my every breath and thought, only surface from time to time, perhaps simply out of habit.  I have one million reasons why this has happened, but my better judgment tells me that there are simpler answers.  Simple choices.  Modifying my good life to create an excellent life.  Finding those scarce moments of passion and inviting them to the surface again.  Being me. 

i'm worried i've politely declined the invitation for my creativity to linger. fuck.
i'm even more worried i've grown terribly lazy, and in retaliation, that once prized creativity got tired of getting a busy signal and left. double fuck.

good.  change has snuck up on me.  or rather, entirely bowled me over in a week's time.  new job, new car, new path.  well, same path, just new ways of going down it.  more changes are on the way, that much is becoming clear.

this is the life i wanted for the last few months but couldn't articulate properly.  mostly because i didn't want to bitch.  now that i'm here, i'm good.  real good.

i'm a lazy blogger.

I've begun to question my faith in the truth.  The truth, by definition, is supposed to be an answer.  An ultimate finality that can't be questioned with, because it is factual, infallible.  There are quotes saying how only the truth can set you free, and how all anyone ever looks for is the truth, leading people to believe that the truth is the goal.

But the truth is the sharpest knife in the drawer.  It cuts so deep.

I told the truth, and where am I today.  Free? Hardly.  Justified?  Complete? Rectified?  No.  Lonely as hell, wondering why I can't make sense of anything.  Wondering how I am so adept at destroying my life, the lives around me, by just being me.  What is my truth that makes me this way.  When I did what I was supposed to do, tell the truth about how I feel, I was left with questions for which there is no truth, and I don't understand how that is fair.  How I can be so honest, and vulnerable, and all I feel is worse than I did before.  Why it feels like I have a thousand pounds laying on my chest, holding me down, dragging me down into this place that only admits entry on the basis of self hate. 

I can't remember ever being this low.

why?
it's a good question to ask. 
like, today, thinking about my journal, i thought, 'why do i always write about jeff?  about being in love? why?'

why do i write?  what am i getting at? what am i after? 
it seems to change often, but this little home for my words has become more about documenting the journey than anything else.  that's why i write about love.  about him.  because i need to write about these things i don't understand, with hopes of gaining that understanding.  loving him is sometimes like staring at a really brilliant piece of art, or hearing an amazing tune.  it's so wonderful, and fills you with awe, and yet you have no idea how those parts managed to create the whole.  brush strokes, chords and rhythms, days gone by.  simple actions, that build to enormous conclusions.

i write about my love, because when i get the sense to look at all we are, from where we've been, i'm truly humbled.  i realize that he is as important to my education as any degree ever will be.  the complexity of human nature, relationships, co-existence.  lessons learned only in real time, in practice, with pain and joys that are tangible.  palpable. 

life is bizarre and beautiful. 

the last few days have been dramatic, and overcooked.  overwrought.  and they're over, now.  turns out we're both scared sometimes.  it also turns out that sometimes we don't have a single clue what to do next. 

i think we did learn something, though.  at least i did.  that there sometimes certain questions don't have answers, or at least, at my age i don't know them yet.  but there are universal answers that can apply to every situation.  the universal truth of our love.  sometimes, this thing that i can't even fully comprehend is so much bigger than i know.  life, now, has you in it.  life for a while has had you in it.  but it takes being undone and totally frightened to realize that the only thing that keeps me laced tightly and safe is you. 

i learned we're going to make it.  the formality of this lesson was that success often comes out of hardship.  the simplicity of this learning was that i get to wake up with you tomorrow. 

i don't know.

i've spent all day not knowing.  laying on the cold, wood floor in the empty house, listening to the three clocks in the house ticking in discordant rhythm.  or turning on the tv, the stereo, the computer, and reading a book hoping that the entropy will drown out the fact that i don't know.  i've thought of everything, twice, and still don't know. 

i try to phrase everything in the form of a command.  "do this".  "stop". "say".  and yet, all it feels like is a day-long monologue that seems to be designed without an end.  something that is supposed to be long, supposed to drive the audience away, out of sheer absurdity.  well, they've gone and i'm still performing, or faking it, which ever you prefer.

i'm faking it because i'm so, so scared to move either way. 

For anyone who missed Oprah yesterday, she discussed this book and dvd, The Secret.  I can't really reiterate the specifics of the ideology as well as the writers, but the fundamental idea is that every single thought, both positive and negative have the power to influence the world around us.  If you wake up and say "I'm not good enough" or "My job is terrible", then these are truths you've allowed to exist, and you can't be surprised if these become self-fulfilling prophecies.  Inversely, the power of positive thought allows dreams to become reality. 

This whole notion of thought transforming into kinetic energy in our lives really hit me, because almost two years ago around my birthday, I visited an intuitive who told me much the same thing.  She said, "Every thought is a prayer.  Subconscious thought works just as powerfully as anything that can come out of your mouth, so be aware of what you're thinking and saying all the time."  At that time, it struck me as being a little hokey and hard to grasp, but I live that life everyday, of being aware of my thoughts and actions.

I can't sleep tonight, even though I work in six hours.  I'm too awake, too excited.  The last few days have been rough, because I have felt like my spirit, my fight, whatever it is that makes me Landon has been subdued.  I was allowing myself daily doses of pity for not being better at certain things, not making more money, not having accomplished more.  I have always known what I believed, but I've tricked myself into thinking that confrontation and being authentic were too bold, too much.  Laying in bed tonight, in the quiet dark, I remembered that the only person who gets to judge me, is me.  The only person who's opinion is valid, who knows my true self is me.  I teach people how to treat me.  If I am hard on myself, I teach people that that is how to respond to me.  If I am solid, joyful, and filled with excitement, then people understand that that is the way they interact with me. 

Negativity is a trap that I refuse to believe is a necessity to life.  I will not accept that "life is a bitch".  I will not agree that dreams are useless and that it is a waste of time to have goals.  I will remember that I have spent all of these years writing, thinking, crafting, and examining myself, and that i love the person I've gotten to know.  This may all seem fluffy, exaggerated or too new-agey, but I can't being to express how monumental these ideas have been in shaping my life.  My growing, changing, wonderful life.

With time being a finite resource, I get scared sometimes that I'm not accomplishing enough.  I blame all of those people who keep writing carpe diem on mugs and bumpers stickers.  It's hard to sieze the day all the time.  I had a conversation with Rachel a couple years ago about living your passion and doing what you want to do with your time, and I mentioned I wanted to start writing.  Since then I've written a few things.  Not nearly as much as I should or would have liked to if I wanted to consider myself a writer. 

Two days ago, I was given my Valentines Day present early.  Jeff had taken every entry in this journal, all the way back from 2003, and published it.  It's a hardcover, honest-to-god book, that I wrote.  He added his amazing photos, and edited it beautifully, and despite some of the entries being personal, and some of the earliest being juvenille, I have a book I'm proud to say is mine.  Three-hundred pages I didn't know I had in me.  Three-hundred pages that came out over four years. 

Lesson: Good things take time to develop. I need not be so hard on myself for not writing a novel every month.  Oh, and perhaps not a lesson learned, but a lesson reaffirmed, true love is unmistakeable.  Thank you for giving me that gift, physical proof that we make wonderful things happen together, but mostly for believing in me.