I started reading Just Kids by Patti Smith this morning. I'm on page 78 now ... and the way she describes her early relationship with Robert reminds me of my relationship I had with a boy at age 17. We used to sit there, long into the night, speaking in our native language, or English, sometimes in Spanish as we both tried to learn the language. We discussed music and books and works of art. This boy was brilliant. He went on to become a doctor and was one of the first people to treat COVID patients in my country.
I miss that. I had the same connection with my friends in the States, discussing literature or spirituality, often staying up all night to do so, listening to music and laughing or just sharing the depths within ourselves.
I miss that.
I have been wondering for a long time now whether it would be a mistake to stop dreaming of writing, to stop dreaming of producing a work of art and publishing it in whatever way I can. And then I thought of writing this down here on this blog and laughed a bit at myself. This is not a piece of art, but it IS writing and it IS public. So in a way I have already fulfilled my dream.
But I do still dream of holding a physical book in my hands with my name on it as the author. And sometimes when I most despair at everything it seems this dream is very silly. It is in those times I wonder if anything will ever change. Whether I will always be stuck within myself.
I long for conversations about books and art and music and a deep connection to other human beings yet I hide myself away within myself. I barely come out of this protective shell. I find it even hard to share anything with my boyfriend - something I used to do freely: sharing things with boyfriends and girlfriends was the one thing I could always do. Now I can't even do that, always holding back, always hiding.
In a way it's not surprising for me that nobody from the basketball group ever asked me to do something with them because I don't SHOW myself. I don't talk about anything but my dogs and I don't share anything more personal than that ever. I have thoughts, but they seem so private I can't imagine sharing them out loud with anyone. I write them down though, here on this blog. Some of them anyway.
In a way I have lost my ability to communicate about the deepest depths within myself. I have withdrawn and I have stopped participating ... participating in life, participating in sharing my soul with anyone.
I don't want this. This is a silent life. It's not an empty life as I keep filling it with the words of other people. But I don't fill it with my own anymore.
I need to find my way out of this silence. Because I want to write and I want to feel alive again. I want to live.
No comments:
Post a Comment