may
april
march
february
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december
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[If I told you that I was thinking of moving east,
would you save a place for me?
I'll come home cause it's worse than I expected.
A place in my heart for my home to the west
where we'll watch the same sunsets.
These bridges and boundaries are bringing me closer to you.]

I arrived in Massachusetts around noon today and came to campus as soon as I could. Already it seems like I've been here forever. Not that it isn't very, very weird -- it certainly is -- it's always been pretty weird. A friend who knows the weirdness well said it better than I ever could: it's like there's a low-level electrical current running through everything here. You feel it as soon as you step onto the campus, and it surges whenever you round a particular corner that opens to some viscerally familiar scene. Every tree is in place, every sound is perfect, it smells the same. The old friend that spotted me waiting for the bus in Hadley and gave me a ride to campus told me he nearly didn't stop: "I keep seeing people that look just like long-lost members of our class," he said, "but they're all first-years."

But the other side of the electrical shock is the magic of the place. Like magnets, nearly everyone that still matters around here appeared within an hour. I went to lunch with my oldest Hampshire friend and discovered our idle, four-year-old banter hasn't changed, not even a little bit. The forgotten landscapes of Amherst and Northampton unfolded from secrecy immediately; I found myself taking old shortcuts, performing all the same rituals I always have. But it's more than sweet coincidence. The current takes hold of you, works its way into you. It's uncomfortable now, but I know it's vital to discovering the new paths that can lead me through the chaos.

It is weird. But it's in my blood, this profoundly unresolved conflict that I walked into four years ago and haven't been able to walk away from since. It hurts a lot because I've been putting it off for a very long time. If I'm ever going to make it work, the next six months will tell the story.
posted by Jen Howk 2:18 PM

Tuesday, September 04, 2001

Full circle.

In a sweeping personal gesture of deal-sealing ritual, I'm back at the best-quality rural hostel on Vashon Island. I lived there for most of last summer, and I've escaped there several times this year to catch my breath. I have a great campsite, and I'm planning to stay put until the end of the week, which is when I am supposed to get my deposit back. Then I'm getting on a bus.

I went to Vashon for a lot of reasons, but solitude, as it so often does, topped the list. I have learned to blame my freakish childhood for my inability to function without regular doses of aloneness in the great outdoors, and I have learned, slowly, to accept the somewhat watered-down experience of camping somewhere that I'm actually allowed to camp. It doesn't work as well, but it does work.

It's been an emotionally overwhelming couple of weeks. The packing-everything-in-boxes business was overwhelming, the leave-the-beloved-job business was overwhelming, the begin-process-of-breaking-up-before-leaving-town business continues to be totally overwhelming. But what should have been the most impressively overwhelming business of all the business, an unexpected, relationship-altering transition that has kicked up all kinds of dust and exposed elephants in living rooms all over my house, is in fact the only thing in my life that makes any sense right now.

I've come to the conclusion that I have absolute trust in the most important things in my life, and this relationship has always been one of those things. I've trusted it, and I've trusted him, from the very beginning. It's gotten better, and we've gotten closer, every year that we've known each other; it's at the point now where there is no reason for anything to go unsaid.

I think if something is that strong, and keeps growing stronger, it is eminently worthwhile, and it has to be trusted to find its way. That seems so obvious, doesn't it?

I sent an email today to a friend in New York that gave my ETA there as "around the end of next week," which was a little horrifying to actually write down and send into the ether. The end of next week! That's the kind of time frame people use to schedule movies, or make dinner reservations, or go away for the weekend; it's so casual.

Yet I despised not nor gloried; yet as we wrenched them apart,
I read in the razed foundations the heart of that builder's heart.
As though he had risen and pleaded, so did I understand
The form of the dream he had followed in the face of the thing he had planned.

So that's that. Seattle is officially over. Next stop Northampton.
posted by Jen Howk 11:28 AM

Thursday, August 23, 2001

I've just realized that my last several posts have been completely unsuccessful. Lost in the process mid-post, lost for good. Like when you say something to someone, and they don't respond, and it just hangs there filling the void for a few moments until you aren't even sure you said anything at all. That's been happening to me a lot lately.

Tomorrow is my last day of work, and I'm not dealing with it well at all ...
posted by Jen Howk 5:06 PM

Monday, August 20, 2001

So much to say. No time now. Will post before leaving, under cover of night, all stealthy-like.
posted by Jen Howk 5:17 PM

Tuesday, June 19, 2001

Today’s subject: It is so hard to love someone without wanting all kinds of things in return.

We know each other so well. One look, and he reads me like a cheap magazine. And we don’t even live together. I know it isn’t because I’m simple, or predictable, or because he’s particularly brilliant and perceptive in this area. We’ve just learned each other. We’ve not only watched each other change and evolve, but we’ve changed and evolved together.

Not every day has a theme, but yesterday had a theme; it was love.

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved in return

But I was still playing the same game, waiting for something from him that I have no reason to expect. Wielding my love as a weapon, measured and compared against his, and resenting him the balance. How I can sit there and look at this man I have known for so long, how I can assess this relationship that has been through so much, and repeatedly reach this conclusion is beyond me.

But instead of talking about that, or anything remotely related to that, we’ve been doing a lot of talking about weather. Degrees. Duration and degree.

When in doubt, blame Massachusetts. Massachusetts always makes me thirsty. Massachusetts has thrown everything off. I’m moving back in the fall, and it’s a surprise to both of us. Because it isn’t just a year-long commitment, it’s a domino: after this year comes everything else. After this I’m legitimate. I’ll have to get my act together. No more floundering about, landing in strange cities simply because they are home to dear friends and mild weather.

Storm clouds may gather
And stars may collide

I can’t even think of moving back to Northampton without experiencing a shock of pure joy. But the better I feel about Northampton, the worse I feel about this relationship. And the worse I feel about this relationship, the more I want to be reassured by him. Don’t-be-silly-dear-nothings-going-to-change-ever-I-promise.

We actually talked about this once, on a train out of Santa Clara a few years ago. We called it “push-me-pull-you,” after Hugh Lofting’s fictional two-headed goat. At least we thought it was a goat. The more I want from him, the more resistant he is to giving it, even if our intentions are pure. The more I need to hear don’t-be-silly-dear-nothings-going-to-change-ever-I-promise, the less sense it all makes to him. We push each other away until we’re so far from each other we snap back. We keep doing this. It’s been nearly four years, and we know better. We’re dumb.

There was a boy
A very wise, enchanted boy

A dear friend who is rarely wrong told me once that the secret of life is just communicating clearly to people what you actually need from them. No dancing around searching for significance in the sunset, no talking about weather, no meaningful sighs. So, if you're out there in the ether:

I need you to tell me this isn’t going to destroy our relationship.
I need you to tell me I’m making the right decision.
I need you to tell me what you really think it means, for both of us, in the long term.

Is it always going to be this way? Is this balance always going to be tipped, inadequate, reminding me only how weak I actually am? To be known so exquisitely is to be seen, and there is no going back. I feel as if I’ve tricked the universe; it can be only a matter of time before I’m caught.
posted by Jen Howk 9:42 PM