ten points if you make it through

Last night Matt and I disagreed about something that happened on a TV show we watch and I couldn't form a coherent argument as to why it bothered me so much. Not the fact that we disagreed, that's not a rare experience at all, but that we held such different views on something that we had seen simultaneously, under the same circumstances, the only differing variable being the interpretation of our own minds.

At the risk of this explanation becoming more boring and verbose than it will already be, I'll say that this was a moment built up between two fictional characters over a period of almost two seasons. That's the marketable way to do it, stretch the viewers' patience as long as possible. In this case, two seasons of meaningful glances/smiles/wistful looks,  near-misses, and talking about their feelings to everyone but each other and finally, finally, a kiss. Not just any kiss, a big whammy, an embrace, a block-all-the-world moment.

It was cathartic, for me, to watch this thing under the surface, that was so clearly just out of reach, finally come to light.

Finally a release.

As the viewer, I watched in anticipation of this moment, willing it to happen every time the two characters were in the same frame. It may be fictional, but that doesn't mean the people watching don't invest emotionally in what we see. So while I essentially squealed with delight at the dramatic first kiss between two people forbidden to be together by circumstance, I glanced over at my own love, to gauge his reaction. It's something that I do often, look to see Matt's reaction to things, because as well as I know him, as much as I like to think I've pieced together a reliable map of this mind and heart, we are two beings independent of each other, and there are always mysteries.

He was not as thrilled as I was.

Actually he was disgusted and he accused me of condoning infidelity because I was so thrilled to finally see these two characters get to share a truly happy moment together.

You see, the man of the pair was in an on-again-off-again relationship with a woman who didn't know many things about him, one of which being his feelings toward the female lead. But then again, everyone on the show lies to the people they care about. For the sake of their safety, of course. The lies, the covering up of the lies and the near-misses with them, it's a central part of the story line, woven in with the romance, another factor of suspense.

Another reason we watch.

But does it justify lying?

Matt's disapproval led me, of course, to think about my feelings on infidelity.

Cheating, I know, I believe, I fully feel, is wrong. It's grounds for separation,  for re-evaluation, to end something special that has been mutually worked for between two people.

As a person that has experienced first-hand the feelings of disgust and pain and fury and just filth that surround the person you are with, to whom you've handed over part of yourself, to whom you've tried to make yourself fit, betraying my trust for the cheap thrill of the warm touch of someone else when mine wasn't convenient and handy, I know what it's like to feel seared alive. Then to continually press on the seared spot of your being to try to understand the pain, the motive, the reason. And to find that sometimes, there is not a reason, sometimes there is not logic, sometimes the only thing you know for certain is pain. However, I have never been left at the discovery of someone better, either. Only someone more opportune.

 

I also can't say that I've always played my heart exactly by the rule book. Because in truth, I've never been able to find a rule book that seemed fair to me.

 

I'm not a cheater. I feel that my integrity is intact.

 

But come on. I'm not perfect either, as hard as it is to admit about something so charged, being faithful and trustworthy and sturdy and true, I can never claim that my slate is clean. Not completely.

 

In college, my first two years, I was in love with a man so sweet and gentle and caring. He thought we were going to get married. I wondered often what our life would look like in five, ten, fifteen years. Would we still have the same arguments? Would we still be able to make each other laugh? Would we ever stop drinking every weekend?

 

I felt committed, devoted. We practically lived together. We spent every possible moment together. It was so much fun.

 

And then I would come home for the weekend and I would immediately call Matt and hop into his truck and we'd drive around together for entire nights. Driving no where, looking at the stars, laughing and singing along to the music.

 

And I loved that too.

 

And it made me feel like a monster.

 

So that meant I was doing something wrong. Your insides know past the rationality of your mind when something strange and wrong is afoot. Anything that feels that wrong means it is wrong. Just to be clear, it doesn't seem to work both ways, just because something feels right, doesn't necessarily mean it is. Another lesson hard-learned.

 

And yet during that time Matt and I never kissed. But more than once we went down to visit friends at their colleges and got drunk at parties and I'd wake up in the same bed with him, with his arm thrown over my body, both of us fully clothed and on top of the blankets, like we'd fallen where we stood talking.  And I'd think, "Fuck fuck fuck."

 

And then I'd pretend it was nothing and I'd done nothing wrong, not violated any sacred unspoken agreements, not been a poor example of character or someone that cannot be trusted. Because I hadn't kissed him, right? I always reminded myself of that. But it felt wrong because I knew how I felt, pulled in two directions, stretched. And I knew how they both felt about me, and I learned that you don't get to dole out permission for someone to love you.


Sometimes, they just do.

 

And sometimes you don't get to decide either. Sometimes, even the most disciplined of us cannot stop the runaway train of emotions that hits unexpected, violently, defiantly.

 

I know that it was wrong that those two characters kissed before the writers made them single and available, morally right, but it adds to the drama. It adds to the conflicting emotions that stir within us and keep us coming back. Is it truer to life? If they're so broken and they're beautiful and we get to watch their most private lives unfold, then it's okay, maybe, that I'm broken and imperfect too?

 

 Am I able to be the kind of person who will close my heart off to that explosion of attraction? Is monogamy a pillar of my heart's fundamental belief system? Of course it is, but what constitutes cheating? Why are we so compelled by the idea of forbidden love, even in a fictional sense? How big should be the guilt in my soul for the sins I committed in the past on the journey to discover the lessons I've learned? How much weight should I feel for the hearts that I've surely damaged along the way?


I was 18 then, 19. Everything I felt, I meant. I meant it all so much. I don't know if I've ever let myself feel so much since then. That love at college was sacred to me, it still is, because it was my first. But this love that I feel now, it is more sacred to me. I tell myself, completely honestly and truthfully, that I would never let it go there now, not when I've learned so much and lost so much and come so far.



Not with this love. Maybe then I had the steady truth that I'd never let my feelings be proven, my lack of faith be brought to light with a physical manifestation, a kiss, but it is my perhaps ignorant belief that emotionally bonding with someone other than my partner, my lover, my best friend, Matt, would hurt him far worse. And now, certainly, I would never let myself take it there. Not only because I know pain of heart but because I treasure what I have too much to risk it, to play with it. It is not a game, not that I ever felt like it was anyway. 

 

Also what of the media? Is is desensitizing me to monogamy? Is it fucking with my moral code? Am I less now, less because I wanted, hoped, wished, imagined, obsessed, fixated these two people sharing that first kiss?

Is Matt hypocritical for reacting the way he did when in fact, he told me he was still in love with me before he'd had the chance to end things with his ex-girlfriend after reading my letter, in which I begged, calling him back to me? Or is it okay because we didn't actually see each other until after it was done, ended. Who am I to declare my feelings at the expense of some other girl's happiness anyway? Is it because I felt we were meant to be together, that despite circumstances and obstacles in the way, I was willing to forsake the code to make it known?

 

Is 'fair' just an ideal we can use as a point to strive for, like Utopia? What is fair? Who gets to say? I want to know.

 

In life, things are less compressed, action packed. When events unfold slowly as they usually do, some of the drama of the situations we endure is lost, or spread out to seem less extreme. And thank god for that, our lives were not fabricated for the entertainment of others. But have we been trained to set that as the benchmark for success? Do we need the explosions and fireworks or are they just a precursor for disaster? I recently learned that we're not the only organisms that can manipulate one another. Is that all we are,  animals? 

 

Would we tolerate all that drama that we get sucked into,  or do we long for it?

 

I don't need to know that answer to the last question.

I just want to get back to my show.

life doesn't play fair- part 1

Sixteen days ago my parents moved my brother, Eric, into his dorm room- a healthy eighteen year old college freshman eager to hit the books and  hit the football field and hit the booze. 


I watched my brother grow up, he was born when I was almost seven. He's more like me in personality than either of my other two siblings. He's a sarcastic little bastard... as am I.  He's always excelled academically and despite bad Asthma as a kid, worked extra hard so he would excel at football.




And excel he did.




We've always been a big football family, and I mean tears are shed and entire autumns hinge upon the sport, but I swear I've spent the past several years rolling my eyes repeatedly during every family interaction because of the degree to which my parent's lives have obviously revolved around Eric's football aspirations. But who wouldn't want to have supportive parents willing to get involved and make sure you have everything you need to succeed?


Not only have my parents never missed a game, my dad flew and drove with Eric to schools around the country as he was deciding where he would go to college and ultimately, play football. He had lots of schools interested in him athletically and academically. And I get to brag about him because he's my brother.


He's good.


He's just really good at football.


So when he finally chose a school only 45 minutes away from home for college, it was no surprise that part of his decision fed into the fact that he wanted my parents and the rest of our family to continue to be able to come to every game. And he picked a smaller school because he planned to start. As a freshman.


Stubborn determination, always. We have that in common as well.


And then graduation and this summer flew right by,  a whirlwind of work-outs, getting ready for college, figuring out what classes a physical therapy major takes their first semester, and corrdinating who was bringing what with his roommate. In all the activity and heat and hard work, he lost thirty pounds. Granted, he was still like 220 lbs, but still, he was looking svelte and ready to hit the books football field. All the sudden BOOM he was gone at school and my life didn't change that much.


And then yesterday morning my mom got a funny mom-sense tingle that something wasn't quite right, because despite hard work-outs and a slight environmental change, there was no possible way her son should have lost what was now 40 pounds.


So she got up, drove to his college, and took his ass to the hospital.




And almost immediately, everything changed.




To be continued...


Xo Sare

i guess i'm home.

When I moved back to Indianapolis, I knew in my heart it was totally temporary.

I never planned to stay. I didn't bother establishing a routine, try to make more friends than I already had scattered around the city, learn any new ways to get around,  find any cool spots to hang out, or get involved with anything bigger than my 9-5, getting drunk with my girlfriends, and hanging out with my family.

I was essentially one step away from vacation mode, a stranger, a passerby.


And that was fine, because I never had any intention of staying, I had no reason to establish more roots, create a network (professional or social) or get myself involved in ventures I'd just have to walk away from when I figured out where I was going, because I WAS going SOMEWHERE else, damn it.

Except that was my life for two years prior to that move to Indianapolis.

And I've been here a year and a half.

Now, this isn't a rant against being a tourist in your own town, exploring places you've never been, eating at new restaurants, or wandering some hidden suburb- those things are wonderful.

This is about just passing through a place every day without acknowledging and accepting that this pit stop is actually your home now- and that even scarier, that big move to somewhere more exciting could just not come anytime soon.

Over a year ago now, four months into my move to Indy, I wrote a very long, desperate, and heart felt letter to my best friend, essentially begging him to give us a shot. That I was finally really ready, after all those years of waiting and waiting and being patient with me and giving up, that it was basically the only thing that really made sense to me anymore. It was fucking draining and humbling to get down on paper. Then I sent it, got extremely drunk, and avoided checking my email for a few days.

What I didn't realize then was that was the moment that the tables also started to turn, I was just ignoring them and choosing to eat on the floor or in front of the tv, or throwing a blanket over some grass and calling it a picnic. Because, fuck tables.

He may have taken me with open arms, but it took months until I realized I was still living in tourist mode, but with a relationship, and it wasn't working too well.

I sat back and realized that now all those things I'd been avoiding? They were happening anyway, I just didn't realize it because I was wearing my "I'm getting the FUCK out of here ASAP" badge so proudly, and it was starting to hurt the people in the HERE and NOW.

So I forced myself to stop researching every other city that seems great in the US and abroad and started paying a little  more attention to my own, which is good because I feel less like my eyes are constantly darting every which way trying to figure out where I can flee to next. I started running, finding new places and paths to run that I'd never tried before. I chewed my lips and hemmed and hawed, but finally allowed myself to move all my belongings to one central location, a home, instead of thrown carelessly about here and there in various locations.  I got involved in local politics and I'm signing up for art classes at a studio near where I live.

And I'm mentoring girls for an organization I've fallen in love with. My first session is today and I'm excited and nervous and decidedly... content.


I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up or where I'll land when I figure it out, but I think maybe I was getting it wrong with my vagabond state of mind, maybe I need a bit of stability to help me figure out where I'm going. Maybe I need to be involved in a community, to really love it, to become the kind of person that another community wants to have.


So Indianapolis, I'm home, and you're stuck with me for now.


Maybe you need to be the one to tell me when my time here is up and not the other way around.



Touche.


Xo Sara 

circumstance.

You know what's a annoying as shit? People who are all "Change your life!!!"


"Be the person you want to be!"




"YOU ARE THE MASTER OF YOUR OWN DESTINY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111oneoneoneoeoeneomgfuckyuou."


NO, OMG, fuck YOU.




Because life lessons are incredibly fucking easy to hand out when using other people's words and failing to take into account the circumstances in life.




Circumstances are a big damn dick in my ass.




Because they prevent a complete transformation of current life to a life that feels like riding a unicorn across a magical forest while simultaneously eating a handful of perfectly cooked bacon that actually makes you LOSE WEIGHT, from happening over night. Those circumstances, they complicate things, and make it all messy, and in all honesty, make actually seeking out change a bit more frightening.




While I've taken this new optimism, trust the universe, act like a person tripping their balls off at a Dead concert feels stance, I've come to realize something.


It's true, I've got to make the changes in order to get to the reality I want to see for myself, because not only does no one else have as much invested in my own happiness, but because no one else really has the foggiest idea what will get me there. It's a one woman shit show. I'm driving the tour bus, headlining the concert, getting rowdy in the lawn, and sneaking backstage to get baked with the band.


Which, as awesome as all of those roles sound...........work, man.


SO MUCH WORK.


One person doing all that work... takes a while. Like, more than a little while. NOT ALL AT ONCE THE WAY I LIKE THINGS BECAUSE I'M GODDAMN IMPATIENT BECAUSE WE LIVE IN A ME ME ME, NOW NOW NOW, society. 


Annoying.






Which is why I've made a not-so-startling realization that startled the shit outta me.




I'm never going to wake up one morning and have the perfect life and get that AHA moment.






...And also, I don't really want it.






I guess I always knew that happiness is more than just not hating your job and making enough  money and being loved and being healthy and shit. Which whatever, I mean it would make happiness more attainable to a lot more people there was a destination or something. 


But shit, this whole being a more content person thing, it requires that you take a different attitude about what you've got to work with NOW. Instead of taking a mental shit all over the circumstances that you feel are holding everything up, sometimes you've got to just think to yourself, "This is what I have to work with right now, I've got to do what I can RIGHT NOW and make sure I'm not letting myself be miserable RIGHT NOW and check off the little things that lead up to the big things on my to-do list."




Which, takes a WHOLE LOT of mental will-power and strength of spirit when you realize that you will turn 25 years old this summer and, wait for it, will be living with your parents again when that quarter-life crisis date rolls around.




Hopefully, for the last time. Here's the thing. I'm okay with this, promise. I mean, I do currently reside in a badass house with my badass friends and you know, enjoy certain freedoms. Like sleeping with Manfriend regularly... and stuff. However, I'm choosing to spin this to the positive for myself. It's true. I can pay for an apartment, I make enough money. But, I'll never get out of debt this way, I can't afford it. This way, with this new plan, I will pay enormous chunks of money every month and be out of debt in (let's all hope really hard) SIX MONTHS.


And you know what would make happiness so much easier for me? Not carrying around thousands in debt. In eight months, I can pay off my car, my credit cards, everything I owe to ANYONE.




FREEDOM.


Freedom, yeah, that could definitely make me happier.


So, it's a journey. And boy oh boy, I can't wait to NOT be one of those motherfuckers on facebook who's always all "I hate my job!, Is it five o'clock yet?!?!! OMG TGIF, long week!" Because, I mean, I'd like to someday value each day and not just the ones that I can get drunk on guilt-free. 


Another weekend rolls around! Cheers to rolling around! Wooohoooooo. Rave party. 




Wait, shit. There was something I wanted to do. 






OH YEAH, 


PICS!!!!!!!!

monday was the first lawn-mow of the season! admire my handy-work. 

only the strong survive. barry prevails. 

meet katherine. friend/roommate/miss fix-it. we had a fire in our backyard. in a birdbath.  spring brought the crazy, we're merely embracing it with open arms. 

stuff's growing in there!!!

we have a magnolia tree... i'm smitten. 

XO Sare.