#48 | in february
The past week was strange, but it felt like a milestone.
Lately, when people ask me what I've been up to, I never know what to say. I'm still "going through a breakup," but a more palatable version of that is I'm just having fun with friends. A whole lot of going out to dinner, getting drinks, watching movies, and other random stuff. Last weekend, a friend and I looked at some photography in Chelsea. The first exhibit we saw was by William Eggleston at David Zwirner, which was intriguing and influential but not timeless. Then we walked on the High Line down to the Whitney and ate croissants at the top floor cafe, chatting all the while about our love lives. We took a moment to admire the pink, wintry sunset over the frozen Hudson before going to an exhibit by Ken Ohara, which we both enjoyed for its endearing depictions of people's everyday affairs. It all comes down to personal taste, and the two of us have always had similar taste. We both like warm depictions of ordinary life.
My friend is a photographer, and I love discussing art with him. That has always been the nature of our relationship, ever since we took some art classes together in college: we're constantly discussing music, movies, etc., and the things we want to create with our time. We're eternally workshopping ideas, though I recently realized he shares his photography and videography with me much more often than I share my writing with him. As I've grown older, I rarely show anyone my writing—not because I'm shy about sharing it, but because I don't think it's "interesting." But by talking to my friend as he incorporates photography into his weekly routine and collaborates with other artists, I've accepted that creating any form of art requires a non-zero amount of self-interest—and, more importantly, self-interest does not equate to narcissism. It just means you believe your perspective on life is worth capturing and sharing, and that's healthy. Everyone's life is interesting, because all humans are interesting. I feel like honing an artistic practice is about finding the best way to communicate your unique perspective in a way that others will understand. Art is how we can transcend language. There are times I consume a piece of media and can feel that the person who created it was truly able to use art to share a deep part of themselves. That's how I feel when I listen to Jacqueline du Pré play cello or when I watch a Joachim Trier film.
Anyway, I've started to share some blog posts with friends again, which has been nice. I've sent my friend some of my posts recently and he told me he enjoyed them. I don't feel the urge to share beyond my immediate circle yet, but maybe one day. I'm still getting back in the habit of writing, and I enjoy the anonymity of this blog.
This week, I:
- Went to the gym twice, doing a mix of cardio and weights. I drank protein shakes after, my first time actively trying to build muscle mass in probably 6 years.
- Watched Avatar: Fire and Ash (lol) and Burn After Reading
- Got dinner with a friend I ran into on the street last week, who coincidentally lives just a couple blocks away from me
- Got cocktails with coworkers, who were honestly really getting on my nerves but whatever.
Last night, I went to a free museum night with friends and then we played pool. I'm not amazing at pool, but something about it has always drawn me in. I have some beginners luck, maybe because it's similar to a video game and requires dexterity...? I intend to go to Flushing soon and spend a few hours playing cheap pool and eating skewers.
Between turns of pool, my friend asked if I had been on any dates since the breakup, and I laughed and said that it was still way too soon for that. Then he asked if I'd get back together with her. I reflexively shrugged and said yes, but as soon as the word left my mouth, I realized that the true answer is actually "I don't know." For the past few months, I've yearned for things to return to the way they were before. After rebuilding a routine, filling my heart with friends and hobbies, and finally feeling more present in my body, I'm far enough away from that catastrophic event now to shed the protective layer of denial and make contact with acceptance. No matter how badly I wish things were different, our worlds are irreversibly changed. Her dad is dead, and our relationship as we knew it is over. Our lives are now separate.
It's a big accomplishment, especially only 4 months after the end of a 5-year relationship. I allowed myself to deny, bargain, be possessed by insane anger, and fall into deep depression, while minimizing destructiveness towards her. I'm reconnecting my mind and body as much as I can, despite a bitingly cold winter.
I have zero interest in seeing other people, even casually. I'm far more concerned with my own life. But also, deep down, I would find it far more fulfilling to balance my new life with rebuilding our friendship, because I deeply care about her, and I know she feels the same about me. That's hard, because even if neither of us are in a place to restart our relationship, our friendship is so deep that it will stir up thoughts and questions about whether we should. Blah! So confusing. I'm definitely not ready to approach friendship until we can properly unpack the breakup together, and I doubt she will be ready to do that for at least another couple months. Anyway, that's been my recent headspace.