I didn't read the article. These days, I can't seem to stomach anything published by certain magazines. But the caption did intrigue me. A woman began classifying her moods with the word "pandemic" in front of them. On any given day, she could be feeling "pandemic good" or "pandemic bad." I'm going to take a wild guess, and say that "pandemic hopelessness" was somewhere in there also.
Recently, I happened upon a friend's new wedding photos. The girl, much younger than he, is pretty - beautiful, even. Their story began years ago. She lived on the other side of the country when he fell in love with her. He realized he didn't want to live without her, began flying out to be with her more frequently, got the divorce, and moved her out there to begin a new life with him. It's a story that I hear so often these days and one that is so close to my heart, minus the "living across the country" aspect. It is a story that makes me feel equally blessed and cursed to be a writer - one that reminds me nothing gained will ever happen if risks aren't taken.
To write is to seek to understand. I can turn it off if I want to. But I am driven by my curiosity of this life. In this case, the answer is always the same. In some roundabout way, they reply: "We don't know what is going to happen tomorrow. I can no longer live with the not-trying or the not-knowing." I paraphrase, of course, but you get the idea. I think of an old country song that had the words "live like you are dying" in the chorus. Many people in my life have adopted this phrase as their own personal mantra, even going so far as to say: "I need to see you because we don't know what will happen." I can't help but be reminded of this phenomenon of people going to the ends of the earth for what they want. I know it exists out there. I have seen it in action. I wish someone would go to the ends of the earth for me or rather, take the drive for no reason other than they miss me.
So, one photograph led to two, then three, then four, and I started to feel "pandemic hopelessness" set in - not because I desire marriage per-se but because I can't help but put a microscopic lens to the institution as a whole. I have, over the past months, learned of more friends' engagements, received more birth announcements and a wedding invitation, bonded in a socially-distant way with my neighbor's three young kids, and have tried to be my best listening ear to my friend undergoing divorce. I'm on the outside looking-in on all of these situations, each of which love is the primary factor. In some ways, I have transitioned from writing about music to writing about life - from interviewing musicians to "interviewing" the people around me or at least, getting some interesting inspiration for my poetry.
I ask myself: "Is it marriage? Is it children? Are these things that I desire? What is it that drives this overwhelming feeling of pandemic hopelessness?" But I've only ever dreamed of a quiet partnership - the "being able to rest easy because someone loves you" sort of thing - never of the big wedding or the bustling house full of children. I wouldn't refuse either of those things if they happened, but a relationship built on the foundation of companionship has always been my main desire. I suppose I feel this way because I rarely sleep easy, but I sleep so soundly when I feel loved. Still, as I go on month four of minimal human contact, my desire to have a warm body next to me is more pressing than ever. But it can't just be any warm body and there-in, as Shakespeare would say, lies "the rub." If I had to put a finger to it, I desire the "beginning" of something - some motion, even if that motion involves a roast beef sandwich on a sea wall. It's the company, not the location, and it's the connection that makes life worth living. It's two people saying to each other: "I value you enough to hold space for you" and "You matter to me; here, take some of my time." It's the collective decision, the head and the heart working in-tandem to arrive at the conclusion: "This person is good for me. Now, how can I ensure they remain in my life?"
I think, or know rather, that people settle. I understand why. But what I can't understand, and what those around me can't understand, is why those of us who are given that "second chance" at happiness do not take it. I guess I am a little bitter, thinking of another friend's second marriage - his third - to someone she considers her best friend. Who knows if it will even last. But the whole thing centers around the act of trying. My late friend Neal wrote the lines, "I will always try for you" in a song. His words tore me up inside. Someone who says they love us should try for us, especially if the payoff is so close you can taste it. After all, so many people try without the guarantee of any payoff whatsoever. But they still try because they know this one life is their only go-around. I want to be tried-for - not wooed or stroked or spent-money-on - but tried-for because of who I am and what I bring to the table. Tried-for because someone's life feels cold and empty without me in it. I don't want to hear how "amazing" I am. I want to hear: "You're amazing and because of this, I need you in my universe."
It is a beautiful thing when two people find each other to be "amazing," Perhaps they have even crossed paths for a reason, and that in of itself is worth taking a look at. Sometimes, two people can serve as a catalyst, exposing each other to the reality of present situations. Perhaps these are dreams that had been deviated. Perhaps they appear in our lives to help us confront ourselves - have we been using life's challenges as a crutch for why we aren't living the life we want?
Some days, like today, I blame myself. For all of my flowery, poetic expression, there is a woman who finds it very hard to express how she is feeling. Having been in relationships where I was told that what I had to say did not matter, I must have adopted the belief that I wasn't worth hearing. When ridiculed for speaking my mind, I began to believe that my thoughts and emotions did, indeed, not matter. I guess I still have some of that residual fear left over that if I say what I want, those that I love will use my words against me, use silence as a weapon, or become like apparitions in the night and vanish. I can hear that word "payoff" echoing in my mind, alongside the word "hope." Words, words, words. I love my words, though I am craving some happy ones. I can write them. But can I live them?
I would love nothing more than someone I love to live some happy words with me. Musicians say: "Play some happy music." Writers say: "Write [and live] some happy words."
God Bless America,
The Red Queen
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