Skip to main content

On Recklessness and Chaos

Journal Entry...

 Santo Domingo Airport

 I'm sitting here in the airport attempting to drown out the cacophony that lives only in the souls and bursts forth through the mouths of Latinos. I love the boisterous sounds of the laughter and stories, but I have papers to grade, and listening to the Spanish while reading in English is too much for my exhausted brain to handle right now. So I am ignoring what I am compelled to explore.

 What I realize here in this moment is that I am addicted to the chaos. Anyone with a psychology degree would say it's pathological, and in a way that is true. For this reason I am drawn to the chaos that my dear love brings to my life.

 He's not perfect. He's irresponsible and reckless, and one day I may berate myself for this. But I also love him in a way that I cannot explain. I love the drama that he brings--the kind that I cannot seem to deliver for myself. He gives my life something that is pathological only to those who live in the shadow of shame.

 Like the cacophony that I am trying to suppress in this moment, he brings a sense of life to me. That chaos of life is made up of intertwined lives and memories. Of blood and sweat and semen. Of laughter and tears and broken hearts and broken dishes. It's the complete opposite of the peace and tranquility that we use to sublimate our darker yearnings.

 This desire for that chaos is what fuels my need to travel and explore. He is my way to get that fix. He's my world traveling. And that's why I do it. He's the part of my life that I am forced to suppress every day through my masquerade as a professional with bills to pay.

 And I love him.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Pardon the Interruption

It's 10:00. My race clothes are laying across the top of the dog crate. I've already consumed my all-natural sleep aid. The alarm is set for 4:45 in the morning. I should be sleeping, but my mind is spinning at an unnatural rate. Remember this poem ? The subject of that poem married just a few weeks ago, and I just finished looking through his wedding photos. It's a strange feeling. Not one of loss. Or Regret. Or even wistfulness. I'm thoroughly happy for both of them in a way that will seriously not make sense to most of the people I know. I suppose there will always be an odd sense of knowing in a situation like this. I know the feel of those lips. I've seen that look in his eyes. What I felt for him was real and pure and drives the feeling of satisfaction that is currently overwhelming me. I love knowing that he's in love--even if it's not with me. I even saved my favorite photo to my computer because the image stirred something in me that needs to be sti...
3 comments
Read more

On Muchness

A dear friend confessed to me last night that he had lost his muchness and found it again. I confessed the same and even admitted the ridiculous series of events that recently sapped my own muchness. That little confession seemed to do wonders. It's so easy to fall out of step with myself. In fact, I do it quite naturally. Growing up in a Christian home, I took to heart the instructions to love my neighbor more than I love myself. Oh, wait! I just checked the scripture. "Love your neighbor as yourself." I may have been doing this the wrong way. I ended 2010 with the resolution that I would no longer make decisions out of fear. I am starting 2011 with the resolution to make decisions based on what I want. I've struggled with this because I've always believed that I should consider the needs and wants of others before my own. I'd like to think this is a valiant approach, but the truth is that it only leads to martyrdom...and I don't think I was given the opp...
2 comments
Read more

TMI and Tidal Waves

As usual, it's been a busy week around these parts, and none of my activities this week involved running. If my grandmother could hear at the moment and complete a sentence without hacking up a lung, she'd ask me what's wrong. I'd have to confess that my eczema has flared up in this oh-so-cold-there's-ice-on-my-car south Florida weather, and my skin is so itchy that I have bruises up and down my limbs from all the scratching I've been doing. There are some days I'm relieved to know men with calloused hands. (Before you take that last comment too seriously, remind yourself that I am writing this at 9:30 on a Friday night.) Anyway... I met up for coffee with someone last night who proved to stoke my creative juices. I'll spare you the details of the conversation, but I did have to stop him mid sentence to point out that that particular conversation will most definitely become part of "La Isla Encontrada." Fortunately, he agreed to it, and I fully...
3 comments
Read more