The turbulence puts my pen to paper again. I have been writing and rewriting this post for the past two months, unsatisfied. This one however will be my final rewrite. I will do all I can to chase my mind away from thoughts of pee consistently jostled about by ill timed clouds and air-hosts with little faith in passengers balance.
10 hours before home and I have just watched the most remarkable story unfold before my eyes. I always know I like a movie when I have to pause it, for airline ‘food’, and realize I am already an hour in. The Great Gatsby, timing is everything. You see I haven’t found eloquence lately because I have been distracted. My heart has been hurting in an eerily silent and blinding way.
Three years ended in an insignificant instant and I was left pondering a phrase on a greeting card I had bought sometime back: your heart hurts because it wasn’t in the shape you thought it was. It was one of those cards I bought only partially understanding and fully hoping for the continuation of that partial comprehension. Yet, certainly a depth and breadth of life experience is useful and I have been spending these past few weeks reacquainting with myself and that heart, understanding the card. I apologize for the delay.
I vividly remember a dinner table conversation from when I was 13, angsty. I had realized a conflict in two of my Mother’s pearls of wisdom: between the ideal that anything with love, determination and dedication is possible and her remark that perhaps not everyone, regardless of an abundance of all three, could make it to the olympic national soccer team. We are not limitless.
I recently reached an insurmountable boundary and had been avoiding its confrontation while basking in an optimism that obscured the shape of my heart. In the noise of life what I wanted and what I needed had quietly divorced. Neglecting the present, I clung to memories and expired significance of the past.
There are so many uplifting cliches about love and life and yet sometimes despite how relentlessly you want something or someone it just doesn’t happen. The Great Gatsby is literary and cinematic reminder. Reality, in its entirety, is never a graspable one-liner. These past few months I have been trying to catch up with myself, the present, learning that boundaries exist and sometimes we fail.