I’ve been haunted by dreams of children in my arms—the sensation of connection and overwhelming love stays with me, even as I wake. I assume it has something to do with the approaching anniversary of my mother’s death. She wanted so badly for me to have children. It was often the topic of our weekly conversations. She offered to come live me for the first year—I told her I wasn’t ready. I thought I had so much time.
I’ve oscillated over having a baby since she died. Sometimes the urge to reproduce rises up to suffocate me—and other times I am acutely averse to the thought of giving up my freedom. I love crawling out of bed at 12:00 in the afternoon on lazy weekends. I love traveling to any given country at any given time. I love partying with fabulous boy queens until 4 in the morning.
I’m sure that there are innumerable joys that come from parenting. But there is also an intense amount of fear. The fuller and purer the love--the deeper the sorrow. Many mothers have suffocated from heartache. Loving, doting parents, carrying little newborns home from the hospital never dreamed of raising junkies, prostitutes, or republicans.
I don’t think there is a word to tell you of the loneliness and melancholy that swallows me up this time of the year. I want to sleep for 30 days. The calendar stares back at me—another year gone. My body tells me when the day arrives. The day when light turned to dark.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
I can’t seem to shake my predilection for traveling. For weeks upon weeks I’ve been dreaming of Indonesia. I’ve fallen madly in love with the Bali--it's ornate temples and magenta (the one in the Crayola crayon box) flowers. My desire to travel to Bali did not come from reading Eat, Drink, and Pray. Although I found Elizabeth Gilbert’s TED Talk on creativity to be rather fascinating, I threw her book to the floor after the first chapter. Her exaggerated literary voice was so abrading—I almost broke out in hives.
I may not fancy Gilbert, but alas, I am following in her steps. I guess I see myself in Gilbert--it is somewhat disturbing. Like me, she is a woman who does not know what she wants (despite her recent sequel). She, I, am a vagabond, a pseudo nomad—wandering around from job to job, degree program to degree program, marriage to marriage, country to country, bed to bed.
I am the complicated for absolutely no good reason kind of woman—unsatisfied with life presented. I’ve messed up so many good things and messed over so many good people. I feed for a while--but let’s admit it, I am insatiable.
So, I am off to Bali, for hopefully, a mini revolution. I’ve scoured the web—Expedia, Tripadvisor, Baliblogs to find the best places to stay, eat, and explore. I’ve checked and rechecked my bank account, balanced pros/cons, and opportunity costs—now I just have to purchase the tickets and go. But there are a few issues.
First, I want to see and do Bali with someone who is dedicated to adventure, not just a casual vacationer. I want shared smells and visual maps—I want to jump off the cliff with someone just with as tragically free as I am.
Second, the recession is causing a bit of impotence. I have all the goods, but I keep fearing that the world is going to collapse under my feet again (I’ll write about that later.). So like the depression/post-depression generations, I store money just for the sake of storing it, as there is nothing particularly interesting I want to buy. I’ve lost all desire to purchase a home after the housing bust. I like money, but I’m partial to life experiences and shared happiness.
To put an end to my longing, I am thinking of just booking a flight, before I can look back, and going it alone. Who knows, maybe this will be a break-open experience. I may even get my own book deal out of it ;-)