this summer i climbed a lighthouse

as i buckle down to finally write an update, it is world suicide prevention day. maybe a coincidence. but mostly a clashing and combining of my worlds and words.

continuing to be inspired, continuing to work and do work in many different ways. been spending a lot of time painting and being silly with a soon-to-be six year old (whose sunflower is so tall it almost reaches my bedroom window). spending a lot of time finally reading again. a lot of time transferring plants to bigger pots. a lot of time still being drawn towards the color blue.

was recently moved by rebecca solnit’s “a field guide to getting lost”. i’m unsure how to describe this movement without relaying multiple excerpts, but i will try:

the world is blue at its edges and in its depths. this blue is the light that got lost. light at the blue end of the spectrum does not travel the whole distance from the sun to us. it disperses among the molecules of the air, it scatters in water. water is colorless, shallow water appears to be the color of whatever lies underneath it, but deep water is full of this scattered light, the purer the water the deeper the blue. the sky is blue for the same reason, but the blue at the horizon, the blue of land that seems to be dissolving into the sky, is a deeper, dreamier, melancholy blue, the blue at the farthest reaches of the places where you see for miles, the blue of distance. this light that does not touch us, does not travel the whole distance, the light that gets lost, gives us the beauty of the world, so much of which is in the color blue.

for many years, i have been moved by the blue at the far edge of what can be seen, that color of horizons, of remote mountain ranges, of anything far away. the color of that distance is the color of an emotion, the color of solitude and of desire, the color of there seen from here, the color of where you are not.

even as i reread and type this piece, i am recognizing new meaning it holds for me.

there is a lot of uprooting and disheveling going on at home, and as a result of that i have been given bags upon bags upon piles upon piles of old things to go through: from jewelry, to music, to notes and journals with forgotten words. upon reading through these decade old converse shoeboxes of note exchanges with old friends, i had a very hard few days in which i became filled with rage, then shame, then sadness, with few laughs inbetween and mostly just questions. but as always, my issues are sent my way when i am finally ready to deal with them. so, i grieved. and then i burned everything. time to rip off the band-aid, stop being masochistic, and make room for what was directly in front of me.

what else? not much externally, but always what feels like too much internally. getting on a plane in a few weeks to visit the midwest and my possible future (which i am still feeling unapologetically brutal about). enjoying the time i have while i have it.  and recently swam in the ocean again for the first time in two years.

last month or so i watched a movie called “cake” in which a line tugged on my heart strings quite forcefully and nearly knocked the wind out of me:

not the first of many similar entries. yesterday i read anis mojgani’s piece on the same topic which was exceptional and moving and right on the money.

i have spent this summer Feeling: grateful to be able to be home without sickness and panic in the same way; full and in love with my life, its companions, its experiences; grieving parts of my life stolen by illness; whichever feeling falls under the sun accordingly.

Leave the door open for the unknown, the door into the dark. That’s where the most important things come from, where you yourself came from, and where you will go.
— rebecca solnit

in terms of being Here, and reflecting on recent work, i am glad to be writing love notes as opposed to suicide notes.