There’s something about losing intangible items that makes the loss all the more difficult. You can’t look for old relationships where you last put them down, you can’t tear the cabinets and closets apart searching for people you weren’t willing to part with. In a city as transient and uncertain as NYC, I cling to my friendships like they’re my tribe; A well of resource, collective survival, and in many cases – a semblance of home and safety. When these kinships end and the absences endure, collateral damage is not uncommon.
I’ve been out of this blogging space since February and although I’ve told both you and myself that it’s because I was focused on other things, my patterns confess that I only stop writing when I’m experiencing something too ugly to shape shift into words or sit still with for very long. There’s nothing poetic about strife or navigating through it as an adult when you feel like you slept through the class on the subject.
Fall is beginning to tease New York City with it’s return and the drop in temperature has reminded me that change is the only thing we can bet on. In that truth, I’ve regained a sense of direction and voice, as well as a new responsibility to wield both carefully.
I find myself thankful for the people that are constants, the same ones that have encouraged me to write and remain vulnerable. These individuals have intimately shared the narrative of my life’s story through years past and trusted in it’s success – most insistingly, when I couldn’t.
What are we without the people that will return to the trenches for you?
The ones who will cheer us on when we feel like we’ve been disqualified and love us when we’re at our most unlovable?
I haven’t been that person to others when they’ve needed me to be but I’m learning.
Turns out it’s an exercise, not an equation, and it requires putting down my pride.
