K-
So much has happened to you. As much as I know it is terrible to say it, I am actually glad to hear you’ve broken a few hearts. I don’t necessarily think it is a good thing to hurt people, but I think that it is also inevitable in the dating world these days to let someone down. It also shows you how it feels to be on the other end of that relationship. You know my story, you know I’ve ripped out the hearts of boys at times without even batting my lashes. But now when I look back on those moments I cringe. I wouldn’t play it out differently, but it makes me realize that I am not a nice person. Sometimes we get backed into corners and like a frightened animal we lash out, just looking for an escape. We don’t know what we want, but we know it isn’t this.
But so now you’ve found a new love, eh? It sounds like you have similar spirits. If she makes you happy, then I am happy. Just make sure she’s happy. Never take her for granted. Always respect her. Amen.
I’ve been reading lately about people who quit their steady, respectable jobs in order to travel around the world. They were admitting how social media glorified their decision and hid some of the travails of their “freedom”. If you looked at their Instagrams or Facebooks or what have you, every week would be a different photograph. Something beautiful. Something that make you suck in your breath and wish. They were doing yoga on a beach at sunset. They were standing in bright yellow rain slickers on a blackened rock on the rugged coast of Ireland. They were wandering down a narrow cobblestone street between brightly painted buildings exploring crowded market stalls. Everything seemed so lovely and carefree, it made the viewer wonder why he was content to sit in his office all day tapping on a keyboard when there was such a world waiting to be explored. But the travelers admitted that their carefree lifestyle wasn’t as easy and beautiful as all the pictures made it seem. They scrounged for cash, doing odd jobs like scrubbing toilets, spreading manure, sorting cans. Sometimes they could only afford to buy floss and no other toiletries. They admitted that several times they broke down in frustrated tears, worried about where they would sleep tomorrow and whether they’d be able to eat. But at the end of it all, they were free. They said they wouldn’t have it any other way. So, I guess, in a way, I can understand your sentiments.
Some days I don’t want to go to work at all. I arrive in my office and I want to just go immediately back home. I glance at the schedule and wonder which patient today will make me feel like a sham. I miss the days when I could sit in coffee shops and read all day, without worrying about the work I was putting off or how I should be more productive with my time. My biggest frustration of those days was simply finding the quietest spot in the café and hoping no one would disturb me and that the espresso machine wouldn’t stop working half-way through the day.
Let me know where your travels take you. I am slightly jealous, in a way. I think if I didn’t have this looming, terrifying burden of student debt hanging over me I would leave my job. Or at least work less days a week. Maybe find something more fun to do on the other days. Something that I could do without worrying how much I got paid. Something I could just do because it was a fun distraction.
Maybe I should start writing a book again, too. Who knows.
All the best to you and your new adventures.
-K
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Sunday, August 30, 2015
I Threw Out My Map And Compass
Dear K,
I'm going to skip the part where I apologize. We've apologized enough to each other over the years, its more of a formality now than anything. The important part is that we pick up again, and I don't think we should apologize when we start writing to each other.
It's been a long weird couple of years.
I got my heart ripped out of me. I put it back in myself. I went to the hospital in an ambulance when I fell down some stairs trying to impress a girl. I got staples in my scalp, but nothing was broken. My body hurt for months.
I was homeless in Chicago. I had a warm place to sleep every night, but it was a different place every night. I would carry my suitcase with me all day until a different friend got off work. I was a permanent traveler in winter. It was a dark and uncertain time. I rode Amtrak a lot. I rode Megabus a lot. I ran out of money.
Then I moved back home. I moved in with my parents. I lived in my Mother's basement, and I walked everywhere and rode my bike. I got a job working for RAGBRAI. Then I got a job running an improv theater.
It was the best of times. I had a long sweet summer.
I met a girl. I told her I loved her, and then I broke her heart.
She moved to Des Moines for me. I broke up with her a month later. Three months into our relationship.
Three months later we were friends. Then we got into a fight and I haven't talked to her since. I've been cold. I grew scales on my heart.
I started dating another girl.
I broke her heart too.
We broke up in February, just before Valentines Day. I became heartless.
The whole time I was working six days a week, sometimes seven. I was working seventy hours a week, and I was barely holding my self together.
I got yelled at almost every day. I worked for a married couple that owned the theater. They would get into fights and communicate through me. I would smile and nod and try to make the best of things. I made things work. I plugged holes. I stretched myself too thin.
I lost myself in the grind. I evaporated day by day.
Somewhere along the way I met somebody. I'm pretty sure we're going to get married. Most days I ask her if she wants to marry me. She came after me. She pulled me out of my cold heartlessness. She asked me what needed to happen to make me dance. Nobody has ever asked me what it takes to make me dance.
We're planning to move. I want to see the world. I want to live in other places.
I have no clue where I'm going.
I quit my dream job in June. It was killing me. I didn't sleep most nights. I just laid awake staring at the ceiling cringing about what I had missed that day, and what I would miss the next day. Who did I not call? What did I not do? Everything I did seemed like it would make or break the theater. It seemed like everything depended on me. Everything did depend on me. I was the buffer. I was the whipping post. I was a piece of inanimate would. I was a punching bag. I was the janitor. I was the front of house manager. I was the one who asked drunk people to leave. I took the money. I counted the money. I dreamt up all of the reasons it wasn't our fault nobody came to the shows. I emailed everyone we knew every week begging them to come to shows.
Then I started slipping. I would miss crucial tasks. I was paralyzed by fear. I was afraid to work on anything because it might not be the right thing to work on. I was tired of doing everything, and I needed a break, but there is no break. I had chained myself to a rock, and the tide started to rise. Summer came and the audiences stopped coming. I started slipping.
At the end I had been underwater for a month, and I was pretty sure that I would never breath again.
Then my commitment was questioned. It had worked before as a motivational technique. A psychic whip crack to move the mule. Only this time it made me look around. Was I committed? I had given everything I had to the theater. I had given my entire existence. I lost sleep every night over it. I had poured myself out.
I reacted with pain and rage, and a day later I said I wanted to step down. I offered to stay on until a replacement could be trained, and a transition plan could be made.
I was done a week later. I came in on a Tuesday morning and found out that Friday would be my last day.
I've spent the last couple of months pulling myself together.
I have no idea where I'm going. I don't have a job. I've eaten all of my savings.
And I've never been more free.
Freedom tastes differently than I thought it would. I thought freedom would taste like a beach or a summer's day. I thought freedom would feel like sunshine on my skin. Freedom is hungrier than that. Freedom takes more than that. Freedom does not mean easy living. Freedom is hard. Freedom makes you question yourself more than chaining yourself ever did.
I feel free when I ride my bicycle without a plan. Every summer I ride with twenty-thousand other people across Iowa. That week is heaven. I wake up without knowing where I'm going, and then I ride with my friends until we feel like stopping, or I feel like stopping, or until we get to the place where we are going to sleep. I never know the route. I never know where we will turn, or what hills will be in the way, or whether the wind will make me struggle, or if the rain will pour down on us. My existence becomes simply pedaling and looking around, and then more pedaling. Nothing is better.
I have no idea where I'm going right now. I don't know if I'll make it to the next town. I don't know anything. I've thrown out my compass, and I'm trying to throw out my expectations.
I'm going to work on a book now.
Wish me luck. Wish me aimlessness. Wish me twists and turns. Wish me a long summer's night under the stars in good company. I wish all of these things for you.
-K
I'm going to skip the part where I apologize. We've apologized enough to each other over the years, its more of a formality now than anything. The important part is that we pick up again, and I don't think we should apologize when we start writing to each other.
It's been a long weird couple of years.
I got my heart ripped out of me. I put it back in myself. I went to the hospital in an ambulance when I fell down some stairs trying to impress a girl. I got staples in my scalp, but nothing was broken. My body hurt for months.
I was homeless in Chicago. I had a warm place to sleep every night, but it was a different place every night. I would carry my suitcase with me all day until a different friend got off work. I was a permanent traveler in winter. It was a dark and uncertain time. I rode Amtrak a lot. I rode Megabus a lot. I ran out of money.
Then I moved back home. I moved in with my parents. I lived in my Mother's basement, and I walked everywhere and rode my bike. I got a job working for RAGBRAI. Then I got a job running an improv theater.
It was the best of times. I had a long sweet summer.
I met a girl. I told her I loved her, and then I broke her heart.
She moved to Des Moines for me. I broke up with her a month later. Three months into our relationship.
Three months later we were friends. Then we got into a fight and I haven't talked to her since. I've been cold. I grew scales on my heart.
I started dating another girl.
I broke her heart too.
We broke up in February, just before Valentines Day. I became heartless.
The whole time I was working six days a week, sometimes seven. I was working seventy hours a week, and I was barely holding my self together.
I got yelled at almost every day. I worked for a married couple that owned the theater. They would get into fights and communicate through me. I would smile and nod and try to make the best of things. I made things work. I plugged holes. I stretched myself too thin.
I lost myself in the grind. I evaporated day by day.
Somewhere along the way I met somebody. I'm pretty sure we're going to get married. Most days I ask her if she wants to marry me. She came after me. She pulled me out of my cold heartlessness. She asked me what needed to happen to make me dance. Nobody has ever asked me what it takes to make me dance.
We're planning to move. I want to see the world. I want to live in other places.
I have no clue where I'm going.
I quit my dream job in June. It was killing me. I didn't sleep most nights. I just laid awake staring at the ceiling cringing about what I had missed that day, and what I would miss the next day. Who did I not call? What did I not do? Everything I did seemed like it would make or break the theater. It seemed like everything depended on me. Everything did depend on me. I was the buffer. I was the whipping post. I was a piece of inanimate would. I was a punching bag. I was the janitor. I was the front of house manager. I was the one who asked drunk people to leave. I took the money. I counted the money. I dreamt up all of the reasons it wasn't our fault nobody came to the shows. I emailed everyone we knew every week begging them to come to shows.
Then I started slipping. I would miss crucial tasks. I was paralyzed by fear. I was afraid to work on anything because it might not be the right thing to work on. I was tired of doing everything, and I needed a break, but there is no break. I had chained myself to a rock, and the tide started to rise. Summer came and the audiences stopped coming. I started slipping.
At the end I had been underwater for a month, and I was pretty sure that I would never breath again.
Then my commitment was questioned. It had worked before as a motivational technique. A psychic whip crack to move the mule. Only this time it made me look around. Was I committed? I had given everything I had to the theater. I had given my entire existence. I lost sleep every night over it. I had poured myself out.
I reacted with pain and rage, and a day later I said I wanted to step down. I offered to stay on until a replacement could be trained, and a transition plan could be made.
I was done a week later. I came in on a Tuesday morning and found out that Friday would be my last day.
I've spent the last couple of months pulling myself together.
I have no idea where I'm going. I don't have a job. I've eaten all of my savings.
And I've never been more free.
Freedom tastes differently than I thought it would. I thought freedom would taste like a beach or a summer's day. I thought freedom would feel like sunshine on my skin. Freedom is hungrier than that. Freedom takes more than that. Freedom does not mean easy living. Freedom is hard. Freedom makes you question yourself more than chaining yourself ever did.
I feel free when I ride my bicycle without a plan. Every summer I ride with twenty-thousand other people across Iowa. That week is heaven. I wake up without knowing where I'm going, and then I ride with my friends until we feel like stopping, or I feel like stopping, or until we get to the place where we are going to sleep. I never know the route. I never know where we will turn, or what hills will be in the way, or whether the wind will make me struggle, or if the rain will pour down on us. My existence becomes simply pedaling and looking around, and then more pedaling. Nothing is better.
I have no idea where I'm going right now. I don't know if I'll make it to the next town. I don't know anything. I've thrown out my compass, and I'm trying to throw out my expectations.
I'm going to work on a book now.
Wish me luck. Wish me aimlessness. Wish me twists and turns. Wish me a long summer's night under the stars in good company. I wish all of these things for you.
-K
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
the ghosts i've met
Dear K-
Look at us. At some point, we lifted our anchors and each began to drift, and now the waves have taken us out of eye sight. We lost connection.
The last time we spoke, our mutual acquaintance had killed himself. Sorrowful times for a reconnection. I didn't know what to say to you. So I just stared out the car window and wondered what street I should take to get to the nearest bar while your voice hummed on the other end of the phone line. I felt ashamed.
But now we both have returned to our customary courses, waving at each other silently from afar. I'm a doctor now. Feels strange to say it. Introducing myself is still a strain. It doesn't sound right, far too much youth, far too much doubt in my tone when it struggles past my lips. I am hoping that eventually it becomes easier and I become more confident in my role. I wonder if all doctors feel this way at first. I wonder if it ever feels better.
Tell me about your life now. It has been too long. I've come to find that nostalgia is the closest thing to regret that I can stomach. I'd like to shake the dust off our letters. I'd like to remember what it was like.
Out to Sea,
-K
Look at us. At some point, we lifted our anchors and each began to drift, and now the waves have taken us out of eye sight. We lost connection.
The last time we spoke, our mutual acquaintance had killed himself. Sorrowful times for a reconnection. I didn't know what to say to you. So I just stared out the car window and wondered what street I should take to get to the nearest bar while your voice hummed on the other end of the phone line. I felt ashamed.
But now we both have returned to our customary courses, waving at each other silently from afar. I'm a doctor now. Feels strange to say it. Introducing myself is still a strain. It doesn't sound right, far too much youth, far too much doubt in my tone when it struggles past my lips. I am hoping that eventually it becomes easier and I become more confident in my role. I wonder if all doctors feel this way at first. I wonder if it ever feels better.
Tell me about your life now. It has been too long. I've come to find that nostalgia is the closest thing to regret that I can stomach. I'd like to shake the dust off our letters. I'd like to remember what it was like.
Out to Sea,
-K
Monday, October 28, 2013
les jours triste
Dear K-
I miss it all. I miss it more than I have in a long time. When I think of living out my days here in the Midwest, in some suburban house with egg-white siding, I can feel my soul sigh and drift to a distant dark space where it tries not to admit that this is life. I want to be back in the mountains, hiking through the Tatras, with the rhythmic pacing of Slavic tongue awaiting at every greeting. My life here is nothing to scoff at, mind you. It is content. It would definitely make do and be an enviable life to many if I continue on this trajectory. All the more, then, it seems so strange and unseemly to be restless, to desire to return to Eastern Europe and disappear from American soil.
Even we have lost connection. What remains here but the broken shells of former moods and inclinations, no longer a correspondence but rather a segmented diary of individuals. The entries have grown more listless ever since I returned 4 years ago. If it had been my choice, if it had been within my power, I would have probably never returned here.
Some days I wonder what life would be like if I had never left Brno.
I miss it. I don’t want to be here anymore, and I am not sure how to approach that subject or whether I should bury these sentiments as deep as I can and hope I can find satisfaction with this American life and prevent these sentiments from erupting again.
Hopefully your new love is treating you well and you are finding the recent autumn weather pleasant.
Restless again,
-K
I miss it all. I miss it more than I have in a long time. When I think of living out my days here in the Midwest, in some suburban house with egg-white siding, I can feel my soul sigh and drift to a distant dark space where it tries not to admit that this is life. I want to be back in the mountains, hiking through the Tatras, with the rhythmic pacing of Slavic tongue awaiting at every greeting. My life here is nothing to scoff at, mind you. It is content. It would definitely make do and be an enviable life to many if I continue on this trajectory. All the more, then, it seems so strange and unseemly to be restless, to desire to return to Eastern Europe and disappear from American soil.
Even we have lost connection. What remains here but the broken shells of former moods and inclinations, no longer a correspondence but rather a segmented diary of individuals. The entries have grown more listless ever since I returned 4 years ago. If it had been my choice, if it had been within my power, I would have probably never returned here.
Some days I wonder what life would be like if I had never left Brno.
I miss it. I don’t want to be here anymore, and I am not sure how to approach that subject or whether I should bury these sentiments as deep as I can and hope I can find satisfaction with this American life and prevent these sentiments from erupting again.
Hopefully your new love is treating you well and you are finding the recent autumn weather pleasant.
Restless again,
-K
Friday, August 30, 2013
i lost connection
Today I snuck out of the house as early as possible to avoid seeing him. I longed to know whether everything was resolved but too terrified to confront the truth. So instead I slipped out to my car before the sun was fully risen and set off for the familiar space of a big, empty room which would stay empty for the next few hours.
I fear what his next words will be. I shudder to think something so trivial could cause such a rupture.
I just want to wake up and have it be happy again. I'm sick of all the bile.
Adrift,
-K
I fear what his next words will be. I shudder to think something so trivial could cause such a rupture.
I just want to wake up and have it be happy again. I'm sick of all the bile.
Adrift,
-K
Monday, March 18, 2013
Escapism
Dear K,
I wish I could laugh for you. I'm face with a crisis myself. Today I thought about the pointlessness of existence. I was in training for my new job, which I'm going to abandon in a few months. Everybody around me was talking about their weekend where they drank away last week, and about the basketball games. They talked about the commute to work. They talked about their children. Everyone was wearing khakis. We're learning how to take insurance payments for things that people own. My coworkers are working to afford more things to own so that they can insure more things, and I just don't want to live in a world where I'm concerned about the next paycheck because I have to buy more khakis.
But I need these people. I need them to buy what I want to sell, even though it isn't for them. They aren't my demographic. This sounds arrogant, but I'm too smart for them, all of them. I'm too smart for the whole god damn building of them. I am surrounded by people blissfully floating along in their lives. We're having a food day on Friday. Everyone is very excited about it. Do you know what a food day is? A food day is a rebranded potluck. Every person with a slight ethnicity is implicitly expected to bring their style of ethnic food. In my training group that is a sushi, even though the person isn't japanese, and then there's also one person who's supposed to bring "something from south of the border". Everything else will consist of cheese, potatoes, chicken, cheese, bread, corn chips and cheese. Every hour and half one of my new coworkers excitedly asks me what I'm planning to bring.
The walls are painted bright colors, and our cubicles are collected into groups named after bodies of water in Iowa. There are only two natural lakes in Iowa. There are four lactation rooms on every floor for new and expecting mothers. The walls next to the elevator are red and have a texture that reminds me of either waves of grain or ice on a frozen lake. On Fridays we can donate a dollar to charity for the privilege of wearing jeans. This is a very important thing. All these details make my days fade to grey already.
I don't want to live in this world.
I was happier when I was depressed about not having a job.
I won't laugh for you today, but it will be warm soon, and I will break free of this styrofoam prison and out into the sunlight.
Meet me there under the trees with green on their leaves, and we'll walk in dreams and the fogs of early evenings and wine.
Until We Meet In Sleep,
K
I wish I could laugh for you. I'm face with a crisis myself. Today I thought about the pointlessness of existence. I was in training for my new job, which I'm going to abandon in a few months. Everybody around me was talking about their weekend where they drank away last week, and about the basketball games. They talked about the commute to work. They talked about their children. Everyone was wearing khakis. We're learning how to take insurance payments for things that people own. My coworkers are working to afford more things to own so that they can insure more things, and I just don't want to live in a world where I'm concerned about the next paycheck because I have to buy more khakis.
But I need these people. I need them to buy what I want to sell, even though it isn't for them. They aren't my demographic. This sounds arrogant, but I'm too smart for them, all of them. I'm too smart for the whole god damn building of them. I am surrounded by people blissfully floating along in their lives. We're having a food day on Friday. Everyone is very excited about it. Do you know what a food day is? A food day is a rebranded potluck. Every person with a slight ethnicity is implicitly expected to bring their style of ethnic food. In my training group that is a sushi, even though the person isn't japanese, and then there's also one person who's supposed to bring "something from south of the border". Everything else will consist of cheese, potatoes, chicken, cheese, bread, corn chips and cheese. Every hour and half one of my new coworkers excitedly asks me what I'm planning to bring.
The walls are painted bright colors, and our cubicles are collected into groups named after bodies of water in Iowa. There are only two natural lakes in Iowa. There are four lactation rooms on every floor for new and expecting mothers. The walls next to the elevator are red and have a texture that reminds me of either waves of grain or ice on a frozen lake. On Fridays we can donate a dollar to charity for the privilege of wearing jeans. This is a very important thing. All these details make my days fade to grey already.
I don't want to live in this world.
I was happier when I was depressed about not having a job.
I won't laugh for you today, but it will be warm soon, and I will break free of this styrofoam prison and out into the sunlight.
Meet me there under the trees with green on their leaves, and we'll walk in dreams and the fogs of early evenings and wine.
Until We Meet In Sleep,
K
Sunday, March 10, 2013
anxiety is cheap
Dear K-
Concentration is far from consistent. It has been a week now and still my thoughts drag in the turbulent eddies of last weekend. There is no shaking the sense of loss. I live in a big, empty apartment that echoes loneliness at every foot fall. It seems I can’t even sit to attempt to work or study without my mind drifting to try to fill those hollow spaces with some memory of him or a dream of what could have been. I try to keep my lips firm and appear to the public unscathed. Today is has rained all day, but it is fitting with my mood so I don’t mind it.
I hope you are doing well. Your life is full of opportunities galloping before you, fluttering and glittering with such excitement. I am happy to hear of your potential and the fact that you are progressing forward. When you make the big move, you should call me to tell me how it all goes. Moving to a new city and into a new life can be terrifically thrilling. I wish you all the best.
I haven’t heard much in terms of my emotional progress. Just a gentle plea to be patient and a vague reassurance that all will be well. I want it to be well, I do. But the insecure, vulnerable vein, a marring flaw of my character, insists that this all can only lead to disappointment. How long does one wait for an answer before the realization sinks it that the answer may never arrive? It has only been a week…but it feels like an eternity on this weary heart. I think I’ve lost weight, if nothing else. The stress provides a terrific diet regime.
Hopefully, if he does return, he will recognize his love. She’s grown pale and thin and dyed her hair to match the blood that still flows sluggishly in her arteries. Will he be able to accept this skeleton once more? Or will he see the damage and flee?
Laugh for me.
-K
Concentration is far from consistent. It has been a week now and still my thoughts drag in the turbulent eddies of last weekend. There is no shaking the sense of loss. I live in a big, empty apartment that echoes loneliness at every foot fall. It seems I can’t even sit to attempt to work or study without my mind drifting to try to fill those hollow spaces with some memory of him or a dream of what could have been. I try to keep my lips firm and appear to the public unscathed. Today is has rained all day, but it is fitting with my mood so I don’t mind it.
I hope you are doing well. Your life is full of opportunities galloping before you, fluttering and glittering with such excitement. I am happy to hear of your potential and the fact that you are progressing forward. When you make the big move, you should call me to tell me how it all goes. Moving to a new city and into a new life can be terrifically thrilling. I wish you all the best.
I haven’t heard much in terms of my emotional progress. Just a gentle plea to be patient and a vague reassurance that all will be well. I want it to be well, I do. But the insecure, vulnerable vein, a marring flaw of my character, insists that this all can only lead to disappointment. How long does one wait for an answer before the realization sinks it that the answer may never arrive? It has only been a week…but it feels like an eternity on this weary heart. I think I’ve lost weight, if nothing else. The stress provides a terrific diet regime.
Hopefully, if he does return, he will recognize his love. She’s grown pale and thin and dyed her hair to match the blood that still flows sluggishly in her arteries. Will he be able to accept this skeleton once more? Or will he see the damage and flee?
Laugh for me.
-K
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