I Have Found

Elizabeth Gilbert has “instructions for freedom”.
“1. Life’s metaphors are God’s instructions.
2. You have just climbed up and above the roof, there is nothing between you and the Infinite; now, let go.
3. The day is ending, it’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful. Now, let go.
4. Your wish for resolution was a prayer. You are being here is God’s response, let go and watch the stars came out, in the inside and in the outside.
5. With all your heart ask for Grace and let go.
6. With all your heart forgive him, forgive yourself and let him go.
7. Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering then, let go.
8. Watch the heat of day pass into the cold night, let go.
9. When the Karma of a relationship is done, only Love remains. It’s safe, let go.
10. When the past has past from you at last, let go.. then, climb down and begin the rest of your life with great joy.”

I’ve been wary of writing this and putting it out into the universe because I don’t know what it all means. I’ve spent almost a year now (can that be true?) struggling with what happened at the end of my last relationship. Struggling with the consequences, with not knowing how to repair what is left. Forcing a solution that maybe will never work. Struggling with myself. With him. With the people around me: the people who have understood, and the people I have lost.

Honestly, I’d like to be able to say I broke this alone. But we broke it. I’ve taken responsibility for everything. I’ve apologized. I’ve tortured myself. But here I am still, and I cannot let go.

I lost him long before everything happened. I wish I knew exactly when. I wish I could pinpoint the minute he stopped loving me, so that next time I can spot it. Or avoid it. So I could know what I did wrong. What was the instant that we stopped being madly in love and started humoring each other for the sake of convenience? Did we ever even want the same things?

And yeah, I’m angry about it. I’m angry that we didn’t talk to each other. I’m angry to have been the one to crack the surface. I’m angry to be carrying the entire burden of a failed relationship on my back. I’m angry that I try to keep a friendship alive, one that I know is still very full of love, only to be constantly told that I broke everything. The reality is he had been lost to me for a long time. I finished breaking something that was already inherently broken. I didn’t do it on purpose, I didn’t look for a way out. It kills me that I hurt him. It kills me that with one action I’ve seemingly tainted 3 ½ years that remain very important to me. I’m angry that I apparently wasn’t allowed to be hurt as well. But I was. I had been. The minute he stopped holding my hand, the minute I realized we were too deep to walk away but too scared to talk to each other.

I resolve now to let go. For the new year, if not before. I don’t have a choice. I can’t wait for him to forgive me before I forgive myself. For all I know, it may never happen. And as much as that kills me, I’ll be waiting forever. I can’t wait anymore.

“Waiting for him to forgive you is a damn waste of time, Groceries. Forgive yourself.”

*K

Okay, so it’s been a month since I posted about the hurricane that didn’t destroy New York City. It’s not that nothing exciting has been happening, it’s just that…. okay, yeah, nothing exciting has been happening.

My aunt, uncle, and cousin from PA came into the city for the day the weekend after Irene. We went to the Harry Potter exhibit, saw Greg’s third-to-last performance in Billy Elliot, chatted with him on stage (where I also shook hands with David Yazbek!), and they got to meet Roddy. He has officially has passed their test with approval.

The following weekend we, along with Anthony and Alex, drove back to Bar Harbor for the Fish House Grill 20th Anniversary Party and general Maine shenanigans. (Maineanigans?) It was fantastic as always and I was crushed to leave. As always.

Not a lot has gone on since then. Life has a pretty usual routine as of late. I go to work, come home, watch Grey’s Anatomy and maybe clean a little, wait for Roddy to come home, we eat dinner. Wednesdays he hosts a show at Stand Up NY and I go and take pictures and video. Every now and then I have a life of my own. Sometimes. He’s started taking Sundays off and it’s been nice to have him for an actual full day, not just for 4-6 hours in the evening. My Saturdays are generally left for me to find something to do with myself, which is rarely ever successful. I need a hobby.

Next weekend we’re off to grandiose Cape Coral, FL for Malaya’s wedding. (Wedding. WEDDING?!) This trip will be important for a number of reasons.

First, Malaya is old enough to get married? What?! Am I really old enough to be going to 3 weddings a year? Out of the group of us, Erin and I are the only 2 who aren’t married or engaged. What is UP WITH THAT? Someone put me back at Ashley’s birthday camping trip 11 years ago, because I’m suddenly not at all ready for us to be in this phase of our lives.

Yeah, I used to look like that. And wear oversized Yankees shirts.

Second, Roddy will meet my mom and grandma. Finally. He’s met everyone else in my family, basically.

Third, Roddy will meet my FRIENDS. Weirdly enough I’m most anxious about that. This is a group of pretty much my closest friends, besides Anthony, who I’ve had since I was 11. (OMG I’VE KNOWN THESE PEOPLE FOR 13 YEARS). I feel it appropriate that they are the final group of people in my life he will meet.

Also, we’re going to take Roddy to his first American mall. Edison Mall will set the standard. That’s not pathetic at all.

That’s about it. It’s nearly fall in the city. I’m hoping it sticks around for more than a week. I’m not ready for winter.

Exactly one year ago, I posted about seeing Billie Joe Armstrong in American Idiot for the first time. That does not feel like a year ago.

*K

[UPDATE, 8/29/11 11:43 a.m.] There was clearly nothing interesting to report. THE END.

3:45 p.m. You may say… why are you still updating when the storm has passed? I say…. as long as I’m stuck here, I’m updating. We’re about to take a walk around the neighborhood to see if there’s anything interesting to report.

11:22 a.m. Winds will still be fairly strong until tonight, 25 – 35 mph. May have to go walk around in it. In all seriousness, there was some pretty heavy flooding in the city, but we’re thankful it wasn’t as bad as predicted.

11:19 a.m. ………….We missed it.

8:50 a.m. An image before I go back to sleep. The chaos outside my window. This tree only has half of its leaves.

8:40 a.m. I’m not technically awake. I mean, I am, but only long enough to say we are alive. It is rainy and vaguely windy. Thinking of taking a nice stroll. May sleep more first.

12:48 a.m. Going to sleep. Wind and rain picking up. Hoping to wake up alive.

10:40 p.m. Took the A/C out of the window, because it could not have possibly been more improperly installed.

9:00 p.m. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7kO_IVJs6k

8:17 p.m. We’re still alive. Mostly because NOTHING HAS HAPPENED.

2:42 p.m. Pizza, beer, soda, Ewan McGregor, and the ritual sacrificing of a virgin. All things that will keep us safe.

1:38 p.m. Mission CVS accomplished.

1:10 p.m. RODDY OPENED AN UMBRELLA INSIDE. WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!

1:01 p.m. We’ve going back to CVS. If you don’t hear from me in 20 minutes… wait longer.

12:49 p.m. I need to be evacuated. I’m in danger of drowning in GEORGE CLOONEY’S EYES.

12:35 p.m. If Irene really wants to be a disaster, she’s gotta be worse than Don Cheadle’s english accent. ZING!!!

12:05 p.m. The latest forecast: it will rain fire and the wind will be made of knives. Make sure you have wine.

12:04 p.m. Ocean’s 11 is on our TV. I like to think this represents the flooding that will impact our poor, defenseless city. Get it? It’ll be like 11 oceans. Shut up.

11:30 a.m. We are awake. It is raining. Good god. Hold your loved ones.

Because you haven't heard that joke a billion times yet, right?

OKAY. SO. In case you haven’t heard, there’s a goddamn hurricane headed for NYC. Wrap your heads around that, kids. This is not what I moved from FL for!

So, to say the (very very) least, people are freaking the fuck out. Water, batteries, and flashlights are nowhere to be found. In true New York style, the line for the Trader Joe’s wine store was around the block. Because that is how we prepare here. (Not us. No money for wine). BROADWAY is cancelled this weekend. The MTA is shutting down transit. Yeah, that isn’t going to cause mass panic or confusion at all. Especially for the people in “Zone A” who need to evacuate by 5pm tomorrow.

The dead flowers are key.

We’re prepared to spend the weekend in our lovely apartment. Not only prepared, but weirdly excited. Roddy generally works all weekend every weekend, so having him to myself for the next two days is fantastic. Not only is he not working, but he can’t leave. If the headline on Monday is ‘Scottsman Kills Time By Killing Girlfriend’, well, you’ll know why.

As water is sold out everywhere, this is our ghetto water supply. I’ve taken whatever empty bottles were in the house and filled them with water. Which is…. well, smart, because I didn’t spend $10 on SOMETHING I CAN GET FOR FREE.

Anyway, who can say what is actually going to happen. It could be a slightly worse than usual thunderstorm. It could cause some actual damage. Or, better yet, nothing could happen and this could end up being the biggest overreaction ever in the history of everything. (Even bigger than the panic caused by our barely felt earthquake). Whatever happens, I plan to live blog the shit out of it. Because that’s what I do. As long as the power stays on, you will have up to the minute updates, such as “RAN OUT OF GOLDFISH. Sent Roddy to CVS.” followed by “Roddy missing.” Or, “Going to sleep now until Monday”. OR “Broke into Gary’s alcohol supply. Going to sleep until Monday”. And even if the power goes out, I will tirelessly jot down what is happening by candlelight. You can count on me.

Also, Jim Cantore is in the city, which means we’re all going to die.

*K

I’ll admit it, though this is not going to come as any shocking revelation to myself or anyone who knows me – I am a slave to social media. I tweet inane things, I update Facebook about movies I see, I write in this blog about the goings-on of my life. I spend countless (ugh, countless) hours reading other people’s thoughts, looking at pictures, “liking” statuses, “re-tweeting” funny things, and changing my profile pictures.

A very common rant of Roddy’s is how much he hates all of that. (Imagine how annoyed he’s going to be when he sees I’ve written that on here, for all the world to see). And, yeah, the whole social networking phenomena is bizarre. Why do we feel the need to document absolutely every moment as if they’re all gems that need to be shared with everyone else? The concept comes off as extremely self-involved. And it is for some people. Maybe most people. And yes, there’s always going to be a level of narcissism underneath it all.

I latched onto Facebook and Twitter instantly because it was a way for me to connect with friends who didn’t live close-by. I have friends scattered up and down the east coast, and admittedly I’m not the best at keeping it touch. I fell into the social media trap only because it was a way to keep up with the people I can’t see every day. It has made connecting with people, and staying connected, so easy. I think on that level, it’s extremely useful. (Farmville is the exception). It became addictive in a way I still can’t really explain. Do I really think that my friends need to know that I’m watching Pretty Little Liars? No. But somewhere in my hundreds of connections on Twitter and Facebook, someone else is, and we can share in our shame together.

Blogging, on the other hand, I’m having a more difficult time justifying. I’ve had some form of online blog since I was 13. I’m not blogging about a specific topic. I’m not making money off of it. I can probably count on one hand the number of people who bother to take a look. I’m not offering any kind of service, and I’m not famous.

Okay. So… why? Someone said to me that the whole blogging thing “seems a bit emo and attention seeking.” I’m not going to deny that some of my posts are sappy and emotional. But, that’s true to who I am. 90% of the time I’m bursting at the seams with some sort of emotion, so it’s definitely not an act I’m putting on. I have no “blog persona”. I don’t consider myself to be seeking attention, but I can’t say that I don’t like the thought of people coming here to read about me. I’m an actress, after all.

I’ve always done it for myself. I want to document my life. It’s why I have thousands of pictures uploaded to Facebook, and even more in boxes back home. I think ten years from now, I’m going to be really glad that all of this exists. I’ve been going back and reading my journals from when I was in middle school and high school, and I’m always remembering something new. Much of the time I’m cringing in horror at how annoying and dramatic I was, but, hey, that only makes me fell better about the person I am now.

So, that’s all well and good, but the bigger question still stands: why put it online for everyone and anyone to read? Well, I still don’t have a solid answer for that. There’s still a level of keeping in touch, as I know there are people who check on this blog to see what I’ve been up to and that everything is going okay. It makes it easy to spread news. As for the long and drawn out posts about my break-up, or about my new relationship? I’m not trying to give advice, because god knows no one could be less qualified for that than I am. Maybe there’s something that can be taken from my own experiences. There’s always something that can be learned from other people’s stories. Isn’t that why people publish memoirs and essays about their lives? David Sedaris was no more qualified to tell stories about his family to strangers when he first started than I am now. (Besides being funnier and more interesting). Blogging just bypasses the trouble of, you know, being published and getting paid.

I do pick and choose very carefully what I write about in here. Obviously I don’t want my entire life to be laid out on the internet. I do try to write about what’s interesting. About things that have affected me profoundly, experiences that make me happy. I usually try to find a point to focus on what these things taught me, how I’ve changed or grown, or how I want to come away from a situation. Sometimes I try to be funny. I imagine that somewhere out there someone can relate, and even if I never know they’re reading, it’s a kind of connection that appeals to me.

Anyway, it’s going to be impossible to explain it to anyone who isn’t on board with this whole social trend anyway. It’s just always going to look attention seeking and pointless to them. And much of it is. But I think I’ll be glad in twenty years to have these blogs, and pictures, and status updates from when I was still growing up and learning and becoming whoever it is I’m going to turn into.

In the meantime, I’m totes going to eat this falafel platter. OMG I <3 FALAFEL.

*K

Yesterday marked 6 months for Roddy and me. We had breakfast at Alice’s Tea Cup in the morning, and a really lovely dinner at a french restaurant I can’t remember the name of (or pronounce, anyway) in midtown. 6 months is a minor milestone, but we wanted to celebrate anyway. And in one of his impressive moments of introspection, that he seems to have no trouble articulating in the slightest (how can someone be so good at that? I can barely articulate when I’m hungry), he asked me what I’ve learned in the past 6 months. I, of course, sputtered and giggled and had no clue what to say or how to say it. While he, on the other hand, told me (without the slightest hesitation, or even a pause to search for words) that he has learned that he can be happy existing with someone. With me. Not just living with me, but existing. (There was more to it than that, but that was the core of it). And it was all I could do not to burst into tears in the middle of that french restaurant.

I’m better with words when I have time to plan and when I don’t need to actually speak them.

So what have I learned?

I’ve learned a lot about not being afraid. Not being afraid to trust myself. To jump in. Not being afraid to trust someone else, to follow them. (Cue Sara Bareilles’ The Light, please). There was a lot of blind trust these past 6 months. Needing to trust that everything would be okay. I learned that I can’t control everything all the time. I’ve learned that relationships are messy and hard and not perfect, but more importantly I’ve learned that I love that.

I’ve learned that it’s okay to communicate what I want and need. And not only that, but I’m learning how to. He isn’t the kind of person who will let me hide, and I appreciate that more than I can put into words.

I’ve learned to be happy. Very simply. That’s not to say that I wasn’t happy before. But now life seems more vibrant, I guess. Even when we’re making dinner and watching Ally McBeal on a Friday night, it all burns a little brighter. And without much effort. I don’t need to try to impress him or work very hard to get his attention. He’s constantly offering affection and love without me needing to ask for it, and I can only hope to do the same.

We’re not without our problems. I make mistakes, and he does really stupid stuff that makes me want to strangle him. He’s taught me to own up to my shit and recognize when I’m being nuts. Remarkably, we talk about issues immediately, until we’ve resolved them to the best of our capabilities. That’s a really, really wonderful thing. I’ve learned to be patient, accepting, and supportive, more than I’ve ever been in the past.

I’ve learned that I am pretty, smart, funny, and worthwhile. And moreover, I learned that he enhances all of my best qualities. I do not need him to be these things, but being with him makes me better. I know now that I am strong on my own and stronger with him next to me. That’s a big statement for me to make.

I’m not sure how to end this. There’s more to come, more to learn, more to experience, more to love. I’m lucky.

*K

…my BIRTHDAY! Yes, it really is August again, and my birthday is in 15 days! In 15 days I will be what Anthony and I decided is the “youngest of the old”. 24. I think we call it that so it puts more importance on it than there really is. Really, it’s just another year and another age that holds absolutely no significance.

Everyone who knows me knows I love my birthday. (Roddy is still learning, god help him). I still haven’t figured out exactly what I want to do. I know Roddy has plans that will probably be executed on the actual day, but as my birthday is on a Friday, I want to take the weekend to celebrate with everyone else. I have no idea where or when yet, but I’ll figure it out. I’m more comfortable planning my own festivities. The one year I relinquished that duty turned out to be a disaster. And who knows better what I want to do than myself, anyway?

Anyway, it’s customary for me to present a list of shit I want, but I actually feel like I’m getting too old for that. If you know me, you know what I like generally. If you’re at a loss, I like books (and am still in need of anything on my Nick Hornby List), and music (iTunes gift cards always thrill me), buying clothes, Broadway shows, the Vendy Awards, and… y’know… money. Mostly, I prefer gifts full of thought and meaning and all that jazz. Or just your presence for any celebration that takes place! (Gifts are still welcomed in that case).

As a side note, for anyone wondering how my new co-habitation is going, it’s been quite lovely. Really, he was there so often, that the only thing that’s changed is there’s a giant suitcase in the room now. (We’re moving to Gary’s room once he vacates, so stuff is staying unpacked for now). An Ikea trip is in order for this weekend because we’ll finally have enough space for an actual dresser (hurrah!) and because I like to eat at Ikea.

Anyway, this wasn’t very substantial or meaningful, but that’s all I got for now. Things are mellow at the moment. That is until 15 days from now. Because, in case you haven’t heard, that’s my birthday.

*K

Say what you will about Elizabeth Gilbert being “chick lit” (which I HIGHLY disagree with), but I’ve been reading her most recent book, another memoir, titled Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage and it is interesting and lovely, has informed me and scared the crap out of me all at the same time. She goes into the history of marriage all throughout time, in all different cultures, how it has evolved, where it is now. All as she prepares to enter her 2nd marriage to Felipe (who you know, if you’ve read Eat, Pray Love. Which you should).

Anyway, some stuff stuck out to me today. Obviously I’m not married or getting ready to be married anytime in the near future, but most of what she talks about it relevant to relationships in general. So this is another entry where I just quote other people, hoping someday I can write things that are nearly as interesting.

This is after she presents Felipe, with a list of her top 5 flaws, and questions how he can still love her. (Which is a terrifying prospect that I could never hope of accomplishing without having a nervous breakdown) -

This is the essential question, isn’t it? I mean, once the initial madness of desire has passed and we are faced with each other as dimwitted mortal fools, how is it that any of us find the ability to love and forgive each other at all, much less enduringly?

Felipe didn’t answer for a long time. Then he said, “When I used to go down to Brazil to buy gemstones, I would often buy something they call ‘a parcel.’ A parcel is this random collection of gems that the miner or the wholesaler or whoever is bullshitting you puts together. A typical parcel would contain, I don’t know, maybe twenty or thirty aquamarines at once. Supposedly, you get a better deal that way – buying them all in a bunch – but you have to be careful, because of course the guy is trying to rip you off. He’s trying to unload his bad gemstones on you by packaging them together with a few really good ones.

“So when I first started in the jewelry business,” Felipe went on, “I used to get into trouble because I’d get too excited about the one or two perfect aquamarines in the parcel, and I wouldn’t pay as much attention to the junk they threw in there. After I got burned enough times, I finally got wise and learned this: You have to ignore the perfect gemstones. Don’t even look at them twice because they’re blinding. Just put them away and have a careful look at the really bad stones. Look at them for a long time, and then ask yourself honestly, ‘Can I work with these? Can I make something out of this?’ Otherwise, you’ve just spent a whole lot of money on one or two gorgeous aquamarines buried inside a big heap of worthless crap.

“It’s the same with relationships, I think. People always fall in love with the most perfect aspects of each other’s personalities. Who wouldn’t? Anybody can love the most wonderful parts of another person. But that’s not the clever trick. The really clever trick is this: Can you accept the flaws? Can you look at your partner’s faults honestly and say, ‘I can work around that. I can make something out of that.’? Because the good stuff is always going to be there, an it’s always  going to be pretty and sparkly, but the crap underneath can ruin you.”

She goes on -

There is hardly a more gracious gift that we can offer somebody than to accept them fully, to love them almost despite themselves. I say this because listing our flaws so openly to each other was not some cutesy gimmick, but a real effort to reveal the points of darkness contained in our characters. They are no laughing matter, these faults. They can harm. They can undo. My narcissistic neediness, left unchecked, has every bit as much potential to sabotage a relationship as Felipe’s financial daredevilry, or his hastiness to assume the worst in moments of uncertainty. If we are at all self-aware, we work hard to keep these more dicey aspects of our natures under control, but they don’t go away. Also good to note: If Felipe has character flaws that he cannot change in himself, it would be unwise of me to believe that I could change them on his behalf. Likewise in reverse, of course. And some of the things we cannot change about ourselves are mirthless to behold. To be fully seen by somebody, then, and to be loved anyhow – this is a human offering that can border on the miraculous.

OH, AND ALSO -

I’m not suggesting that anyone should learn to “tolerate” abuse, neglect, disrespect, alcoholism, philandering, or contempt, and I certainly don’t think that couples whose marriages have become fetid tombs of sorrow should simply buck up and deal with it.

…when I mention “tolerance,” I’m not talking about learning how to stomach pure awfulness. What I am talking about is learning how to accommodate your life as generously as possible around a basically decent human being who can sometimes being an unmitigated pain in the ass.

…In the end, it seems to me that forgiveness may be the only realistic antidote we are offered in love, to combat the inescapable disappointments of intimacy. We humans come into this world – as Aristophanes so beautifully explained – feeling as though we have been sawed in half, desperate to find somebody who will recognize us and repair us. (Or re-pair us.) Desire is the severed umbilicus that is always with us, always bleeding and wanting and longing for the flawless union. Forgiveness is the nurse who knows that such immaculate mergers are impossible, but that maybe we can live on together anyhow if we are polite and kind and careful not to spill too much blood.

There are moments when I can almost see the space that separates Felipe from me – and that always will separate us – despite my lifelong yearning to be rendered whole by somebody else’s love, despite all my efforts over the years to find someone who would be perfect for me and who, in turn, would allow me to become some sort of perfected being. Instead, our dissimilarities and our faults hover between us always, like a shadowy wave. But sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Intimacy herself, balancing right there on that very wave of difference – actually standing there right between us – actually (heaven help us) standing a chance.

Okay, if you’re still with me – and I hope you are, because this is good stuff that any person in a relationship or hoping to be in a relationship, or recovering from a failed relationship and wondering why, or all of the above, should read – ISN’T SHE BRILLIANT? Not of all of this is necessarily new information to me. It all really seems like common sense when you sit down and read it on paper, but it does take some digging to really understand. And more importantly, it takes a lot of hard work to put into action.

We all know I love the idea, and the reality, that none of us are perfect. I’m seeing now that it’s easier to accept that about yourself than it is to accept about the person you love. And while there are bad habits and impulses that we all need to compromise on, our innate differences are what make us interesting as individuals and as pairs. And for the differences that don’t necessarily compliment each other – we learn to look at them and smile at them, and though they may drive us absolutely insane, we love the whole parcel.

And I’m only half-way through the book.

*K

You know how music can really define a certain point in your life? For instance, when I think of high school, I think of Evanescence, Incubus, Green Day, Good Charlotte. Seriously emo stuff I would lie on my bedroom floor and cry while listening to. That (unfortunately) was high school. I think Celine Dion when I think of growing up. Backstreet Boys was middle school. Millennium is arguably the album of my pre-pubescent self. (I used to have to fall asleep listening to it, until a visiting relative put a stop to that little habit).

My tastes have obviously matured a bit (though an occasional BSB jam session is needed), and have changed along with myself. I find it’s harder to define college with music, it all became pretty eclectic. A boatload of showtunes, obviously. I think college, the top 3 that come to mind are Jason Robert Brown, Next to Normal, and Alanis Morissette. (I went through a big resurgence with her in the last 2 years of college, feeling very new agey).

Anyway, there’s an actual point to all of this. Every now and then you discover an album at the perfect moment in your life – so perfect it’s a little eery. Around the end of December, armed with an unusual amount of iTunes gift cards, I purchased Sara Bareilles’ Kaleidescope Heart. And I don’t know how to say this without sounding totally cheesy, but almost that entire album was my life at that time. Still is, actually.

I really got into it after getting back from Seattle, and more towards mid-January, when things were just starting to get confusing with my relationships, and I had a ton of decisions to make. The first time I sat down and listened to the song “Breathe Again”, I sobbed. I remember very distinctly sitting on the couch mid-day listening to this song and just crying. And at the time I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Or, more likely, I didn’t want to think about why they hit me so hard.

…All I have, all I need, he’s the air I would kill to breathe. Holds my love in his hands, still I’m searching for something. Out of breath I’m left hoping someday, I’ll breathe again.

Or, even more right on the money

Open up next to you, and my secrets become your truth. And the distance between that was sheltering me comes in full view. Hang my head, break my heart, built from all I have torn apart. And my burden to bear is a love that I can’t carry anymore.

I mean, seriously. Get out of my head, Sara.

I remember sitting on the subway, trying to convince myself that I didn’t need to leave, and “Hold My Heart” started playing.

I’m not the kind to try to tell you lies, but the truth is you’ve been hiding from it too. I see the end sneaking in behind your eyes, saying things no words could ever do.

The song that really resonates with me now, looking back, is “The Light”. This song has Roddy written all over it. It’s all about completely trusting someone to lead you somewhere you’re not sure of. There isn’t a single song that reminds me of him more. The first time I really listened to it was really when everything was beginning to become clear to me, and every time I listen to it now, it takes me right back to when I really knew. From the moment I knew.

And if you say, “be alright”, I’m gonna trust you, babe. Gonna look in your eyes. And if you say, “be alright”. I’ll follow you into the light.

The CD is also filled with self-empowering songs about finding your way and starting over that I find myself listening to now whenever I need to feel reassured. (“Uncharted”, “Gonna Get Over You”, and most importantly to me, “Let the Rain”).

Most poignant for me, and the song that is the most OMGWTF THIS IS MY LIFE, HOW DOES SHE KNOW??? is “Bluebird”. I couldn’t listen to this for months without weeping. It is everything my life was 6 months ago – leaving the only thing you’ve known for so long, becoming yourself again, spreading your wings. It’s all of that. It is down to the detail exactly what I was going through, and I couldn’t have possibly discovered a better song at a better time. And at the same time, nothing made me feel the hurt more. But that was a good thing. I had to feel it somehow.

Word came through in a letter, one of us changing our minds.
You won’t need to guess who, since I usually do not send letters to me that are mine.

I told him I saw this coming. That I’d practically packed up my things.
I was glad at the time that I said I was fine, but all honesty knows I wasn’t ready, no.

And so here we go, bluebird. Back to the sky on your own
Oh, let him go, bluebird. Ready to fly, you and I.
Here we go. Here we go.

This pair of wing’s worn and rusted from too many years by my side.
They can carry me, swear to be sturdy and strong, but see, turning them on still means goodbye.

And so here we go, bluebird. Gather your strength and rise up.
Oh, let him go, bluebird. Oh, let him go, bluebird. Oh, let him go, bluebird.
Ready to fly, you and I.
Here we go. Here we go. Here we go.

She’s playing Rumsey Playfield at the end of August. I should probably go.

*K