[ Friday, June 04, 2004 ]
"Faith is a man who has no concept of how much groceries twenty dollars will buy. He only knows you will make sure he has food, his children are fed, clothed, washed, loved. He knows no tomorrow, only today. You are planning next week.
He doesn't know how you paid the electric bill, phone bill and still spent $115.00 at Wal Mart. He doesn't ask. He knows you can pull stars out of your pockets on demand. Can take one dollar, turn it around, make it a twenty. You are MAGIC to him. He needs - you supply his need. He doesn't have - you give - just in exchange for his company, love, time, warmth, his light or loud snore for one more night."
Coming home from Beattyville today, I listened to a Dave Matthews CD that I hadn't listened to in a long time. I used to burn it up, playing it over & over from start to finish. I'm wanting to say it's the Live at Luther College album. "Crash into Me" started playing. ( I absolutely love that song--the lyrics, the music. ) It transported me back to two years ago, sitting in the car with George, listening to that song on the radio. I remember thinking to myself for a moment "This could be love." Then the song ended. And I thought "No. It's not." It's funny how we cling to certain people knowing they're not good for us. George was like that for me. He was a distraction. He filled a need. I felt so unloveable. I was convincing myself to let go of someone else...convincing myself to see the scenario clearly, without any filters in place. I felt rejected & hurt because I had opened up, given more of myself than I had ever given. And it wasn't enough. Now, I see that it wasn't my fault. That some people will never rise above their 'down on me' disposition. But at that time, it validated every insecurity I ever felt. It validated that nagging 'you'll never be good enough' voice in my head. Then suddenly George was there, wanting to hold my hand & talk & he was somebody. I felt like I deserved no one.
Today that memory came back so clearly. I wondered how I could have been so foolish. That moment had nothing to do with George, although he was there & it was his car. That moment had everything to do with my own perception of love. With Dave's perception of love. With his putting it into words for me like that. I think sometimes we get so caught up in wanting to feel that 'falling', that closeness, that anyone will do. And then eventually we just feel bound, restrained because there is no freedom to be your absolute self. I felt like that with George. I'm still not sure if it was my own insecurity speaking or discomfort with the situation or little clues that he'd given. But I didn't feel comfortable being myself, saying whatever was on my mind, opening up. He talked about himself a lot & I listened, gave advice, comforted, nurtured--the role I'm comfortable with. But I was feeling so many different emotions. They were steeping & I was still hurt & angry. One night I heard rumors about George. I confronted him. He admitted they were true. I exploded. I said to George what I wanted to say to that someone else. I said to George what he needed to know, without the sugar coating. He sat with a hurt look on his face, repeating "I'm sorry, Beck. I'm sorry." Some part of me wanted to say 'it's alright. don't worry about it.' Another part of me wanted to beat him to death with a shovel.
I settled somewhere in between & just drove away after getting my final 'fuck you' out.
There is such pressure to settle down, get married, have babies. Already at 25 I get the questions "Who are you seeing now? When are you going to get married. You have any kids?" At my cousin David's wedding, back in February, Christy said "Beck, you're the only one of us without a kid. It's about time for you to have one." I responded with my standard one liner. "This body ain't a baby making machine." I swear, I state that more than my full name & date of birth. It's not that I don't, at some point, want a husband & babies & the whole mess that comes with it, but I can't see settling for just anyone. I can't see leaving this freedom for someone whose food I'll eventually want to lace with arsenic. I agree that it's important to have a companion, to have someone to share the smallest moments of your life with. But I've never wanted to settle for someone just because I feel lonely from time to time. I've never wanted to be one of those women who marry out of necessity or because they need a man's attention to validate who they are, to make them feel worthy or important. I think it's the saddest thing on earth...to be stuck in a situation you hate, to live surrounded by tension & quarreling & constantly having to gauge someone's mood, just because you might be afraid you can't make it on your own or because you feel like it's what's expected of you.
As I get older my perception of what someone really needs in their life, changes. My perception of what love really is, alters. It becomes more refined. Clearer. Many times I've found myself falling into the 'savior' role, becoming endeared by tragic stories & what I perceive to be this big puddle of hurt. Part of me wants to reach out, to be the one who dusts him off, patches him up, helps him see himself clearly, as I see him...with potential & of substance. Sam helped clear this up for me one day. She said, "That's just how you are. You want to be with whoever is hurting at the time." So much of that statement is true, in every aspect of my life--with the job I chose (& then chose to leave)--kids who had been discarded, herded like cattle
into hospitals, drugged up on thorazine, shipped off, heard 'you're nothing' over & over again, who believed that with everything in their tiny little hearts. So much of that job, for me, was finding beauty & goodness in those kids, turning it around, showing it to them, saying 'here. this is you. you are not your label. define yourself. you are worthy of love.' Even with friends & the men I chose to love, my goal was always to be there, to be that soft place, to understand without expecting anything in return, to give & give & give because I thought that my hope & vision might be enough.
Here's a clue--for some people it will never be enough.
Nothing short of your living, breathing, eating, sleeping, dying for them--will ever be enough.
And eventually you just end up tired, worn out, becoming the person you never wanted to be--disillusioned, maybe even a bit jaded.
No one should expect you to give all that you are without giving little pieces of themselves in return. No one should be that selfish. And No one should be so foolish as to believe that you can actually accomplish something by giving your everything away. You cannot save those who have no vision of their own. You can't always jump in & pull someone who's drowning up. Sometimes you just have to let them drown & then try to recover whatever floats to the surface.
This is where my perception of love changes ( that got a little scattered...) Love is cradling each other, not leaving all the holding to one person. It is picking each other up. It is enjoying the small, tender, seemingly insignificant moments as much as the exciting, grandiose gestures. It is passion & at the same time, being comfortable enough to be your goofiest self. It is the ability to be totally vulnerable, and finding comfort in that. Wanting to be no other way. Because there is no doubt that the person who holds your vulnerability in their hands, chooses to hold it softly and safely.
It is protecting the world you've created with someone. Fighting like hell to keep it whole. Sharing vision, thoughts, dreams, histories. Sharing a life & choosing that life over & over again, every morning.
The greatest lesson I ever learned about love, came from my mamaw.
When Papaw died, we all knew she was just heartbroken. Still, she was such a strong woman...through the visitation, funeral. We were all just devastated & mourning, holding hands & bawling & she was just this pillar. I know she was so broken on the inside. But she stayed so pulled together for our sake, knowing that to see her breakdown would increase our hurt. I came home missing my papaw, pondering his life & hurting for my grandma, thinking "She just lost the only man she ever loved." I didn't know what to say, how to comfort, even though I knew that nothing but faith could help heal her. I came home & penned one line for my mamaw.
"Sixty years is not long enough to love one man."
Still to this day, that is such a part of me. Her devotion to him. Her love. Her acceptance. Choosing him over & over again, every day, for the rest of her life. She still chooses him. I see it in her. The way she tells stories about him. The way she wishes him a Happy Birthday. The way 'his chair' is still 'his chair'.
That type of love is sacred.
That's what I'm holding out for.
Much love,
~ Rebecca 7:53 PM [+] (1) comments
