this post is part of a secondary, informal series, inspired by crônicas + travel diaries. These shorter-form, weekly, entries are reflective documentation. They are not meant to be tied to any standard, subject, or purpose other than what they are.
enjoy
We live in a culture where we are hyper-aware of our individualism. I’m currently reading Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson, which is about love and desire. In one of the chapters, Carson dives into the phenomenon that happens when one loses their sense of self when they are caught in the heat of desire. She references The Waves by Virginia Woolf, which I have never read—
“I become not myself but Neville mixed with somebody— with whom?— with Bernard? Yes, it is Bernard, and it is to Bernard that I shall put the question, Who am I?”
While reading this, I started to think about how protective we are over our sense of selves. We are constantly trying to set up boundaries around ourselves, trying to know ourselves to completion, and then claim it— whether it be in the form of an online profile, how we associate with others, or most simply and broadly, how we love.
I blame therapy culture and self-help culture for a lot of this. (I can blame it because I dove head first into the new-age spirituality that was fueled by self-help books, and took so much of it to heart.) We are told to protect our energy and create boundaries. While I do believe in these practices, I also feel like we need room to waver. Because ourselves are always changing. If we stay rigid in our ‘boundaries,’ even when curiosity strikes, we may miss out on something. (of course, there are circumstances where boundaries actually do protect us from dangerous situations etc etc)..
But desire! Carson, referencing both Woolf and various Greek poets, shows how with desire, it is inevitable to lose one’s sense of self.. snd through doing so, I think we are on a different type of self-discovery..
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Lately, many small, passing thoughts have immediately manifested after thinking them. A peculiar phrase or subject will be brought up randomly in a podcast seconds after I think about it. Yesterday, I was thinking about a pasta brand R had told me got recalled and I turn the corner to find an unopened box of it in the middle of the sidewalk. The world is blaring with the decorum of my own mind, all without clear meaning.
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I understand the Devil to completion, resuscitating his truth.
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I feel so connected and present with my city, with people, with everyone I meet. I feel aligned, if you will. Yet, with every passing day, my decision to leave feels more and more right. I told G it feels like I’m being sucked into a hole in the Earth but I will soon be released from a slingshot far into the atmosphere.
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My finally week of consecutive work comes to an end. I celebrate with G on the most perfect autumn day one could ask for. We meet some musicians and play Connect 4 with them in the park before indulging in a lunch at the Chelsea and a long walk through the Village. We talk about how it truly feels like we grew up in the city, despite both of us having moved here at the beginning of our adult years.
I am so grateful for the New York I live in. Everyone has their own New York, and mine is filled with poetry, art, and serendipity. Love. Confusion. Most importantly, non-linear time.
