Going, going, nowhere
Laying in bed thinking about how I want to write something here, but that I haven't written anything similar to this in such a long time that it feels foreign. Feels like I'm hoping to sound eloquent, but I haven't had to form logical patterns with my thoughts in a way that would make sense to read them back. I kind of know what I came here to say, but I don't know if I want to or maybe rather, I feel too lazy to take the time to.
I had two goals upon graduating high school. Travel (to Prague, but really, anywhere and everywhere if I could) and work in the film industry. Well, after a short lived effort and a detour to a dead end, I worked in film. Albeit, it was a shitty job, but at least I did it. A little ashamed of myself some days when I think about it. I guess I wasn't as passionate about filmmaking as I thought I was. Not passionate enough to live the lifestyle that so many filmies put up with because they couldn't possibly work at anything else.
But the thoughts of working in film (again) are fleeting. I've had thoughts and sometimes plans, and then nothing for a very long time.
But I still think about travelling. Something I haven't accomplished yet. I think about it probably every day. And I think about how I won't be travelling for a long time. And how I won't get to do the trips I've already dreamed of the way I always dreamed. How I will have to settle.
Sometimes I accept it. Because not everyone gets the chance. I hope I get to go, at least once. I try to tell myself that if I only ever get to see Prague with my own eyes - only once - that I could probably die happy. But if I didn't, well... I'd rather not think about it.
But I'd still be settling.
This week had me thinking. Maybe it's me, maybe it's PMS, who will ever know. Maybe those two are one in the same.
I have a person that I love very much. He is very wonderful and very much a dream person in a lot of ways. I feel almost bad for putting things down in words. It makes them more real or more hurtful and that's never my intention. But this person I love very much... he happens to not care for travelling very much. Somehow that kind of cuts me in a soft spot. How something that is so important to me that it's often my only future goal holds no weight to him. Not that he doesn't care that I want to travel, but rather, he would die peacefully if he never went anywhere new.
We've had talks. He'd be fine going to maybe three places of interest to him, but even then, he seems less than excited. I guess I feel a little gypped. I mean, he said that this life-long thing just means you have a buddy, right? Someone to do something with, so you always have them and you don't have to do things alone anymore. But what's the point if one half doesn't want to? The last thing I want to do is force someone to do something they really don't want to do. I frequently tell him that it's always his choice and I don't care to dictate his life. It would feel tainted for him to join me when I know his heart isn't in it and he's only going to appease me. And that bothers me. (And worse still, even if I mentioned this to him and he tells me he would go for me it doesn't make it any better. It's not the same as sharing that same wanderlust.)
But it also bothers me when we talk about it. Because the reality is a future of travelling alone. And seeing everything and having these experiences that you can sit there and only think about how much you want to share it with someone - that someone and only them - but that someone isn't there because they don't care to be. And sure, you can travel with a group or another person. It's not the same feeling.
Anyway. It bummed me out that our trip this weekend got cancelled. I was so, so looking forward to it. And mostly for the sole reason of enjoying a road trip with that uninterrupted time for hours with no one else but us and our words. And when it got cancelled, I was hoping we could have maybe planned something else. A something else that still remained as something else for us, not just something else to do on a weekend.
I cried on Friday night. In the bedroom alone. While he played computer games in the living room. I cried because I was scared I've become a person that will sit at home every day and every night. I cried because I couldn't remember the last time he and I did anything outside of the apartment together that was only the two of us. Anything we seem to do is always within a group activity. I cried because I worry we'll become two people who share a space, but live through separate screens. So I left home because I didn't feel like sharing that space with him. I drove into the city and got an ice cream cone by myself. I needed the reminder that I am still me without him. I can choose him and love him and be with him, but that doesn't mean I need him. I don't mean that in a less-than-romantic way. I need him because I want to need him. But I am capable of living my own life outside of his boundaries. I am independent and I can make my own decisions and I am my own person that is allowed to do what I want and when I want. I can make these decisions and I can be happy doing those things without him.
But that doesn't mean the feelings and fears go away. And it doesn't change the fact that a huge part of me and what I want to do with my life will be something that we don't ever share together. Not in a kindred and intimate way I want to. So my mood was low all weekend. I gave him the cold shoulder. I think one time he asked what was wrong and I mouthed the words, but no sound came out. Pretty bad at pretending. I'm sure his family thought I was quiet and moody and antisocial.
And he'd say things to me in front of them about our plans for the next day. Almost as if to make them think we had these plans so we couldn't spend time with them, but knowing full well in his mind that those were excuses because he didn't really care to go. And so those plans never happened. We just didn't ever do them. But that's all I wanted. I wanted for us to go for that walk around the lake, or go downtown for whatever reason. But I know that he doesn't want to. So I don't force him, nor ask, not even remind him. I only make sure he does what he wants to do.
I don't need it all the time. I know we're both not those people. I do love our homebody life. I think we're great together for that. We could someone that enjoys that as our most beloved joy. But I'd like to believe we're more than just two people that share a home. That we can be two people who share a life. Because I think there's a difference.
I had two goals upon graduating high school. Travel (to Prague, but really, anywhere and everywhere if I could) and work in the film industry. Well, after a short lived effort and a detour to a dead end, I worked in film. Albeit, it was a shitty job, but at least I did it. A little ashamed of myself some days when I think about it. I guess I wasn't as passionate about filmmaking as I thought I was. Not passionate enough to live the lifestyle that so many filmies put up with because they couldn't possibly work at anything else.
But the thoughts of working in film (again) are fleeting. I've had thoughts and sometimes plans, and then nothing for a very long time.
But I still think about travelling. Something I haven't accomplished yet. I think about it probably every day. And I think about how I won't be travelling for a long time. And how I won't get to do the trips I've already dreamed of the way I always dreamed. How I will have to settle.
Sometimes I accept it. Because not everyone gets the chance. I hope I get to go, at least once. I try to tell myself that if I only ever get to see Prague with my own eyes - only once - that I could probably die happy. But if I didn't, well... I'd rather not think about it.
But I'd still be settling.
This week had me thinking. Maybe it's me, maybe it's PMS, who will ever know. Maybe those two are one in the same.
I have a person that I love very much. He is very wonderful and very much a dream person in a lot of ways. I feel almost bad for putting things down in words. It makes them more real or more hurtful and that's never my intention. But this person I love very much... he happens to not care for travelling very much. Somehow that kind of cuts me in a soft spot. How something that is so important to me that it's often my only future goal holds no weight to him. Not that he doesn't care that I want to travel, but rather, he would die peacefully if he never went anywhere new.
We've had talks. He'd be fine going to maybe three places of interest to him, but even then, he seems less than excited. I guess I feel a little gypped. I mean, he said that this life-long thing just means you have a buddy, right? Someone to do something with, so you always have them and you don't have to do things alone anymore. But what's the point if one half doesn't want to? The last thing I want to do is force someone to do something they really don't want to do. I frequently tell him that it's always his choice and I don't care to dictate his life. It would feel tainted for him to join me when I know his heart isn't in it and he's only going to appease me. And that bothers me. (And worse still, even if I mentioned this to him and he tells me he would go for me it doesn't make it any better. It's not the same as sharing that same wanderlust.)
But it also bothers me when we talk about it. Because the reality is a future of travelling alone. And seeing everything and having these experiences that you can sit there and only think about how much you want to share it with someone - that someone and only them - but that someone isn't there because they don't care to be. And sure, you can travel with a group or another person. It's not the same feeling.
Anyway. It bummed me out that our trip this weekend got cancelled. I was so, so looking forward to it. And mostly for the sole reason of enjoying a road trip with that uninterrupted time for hours with no one else but us and our words. And when it got cancelled, I was hoping we could have maybe planned something else. A something else that still remained as something else for us, not just something else to do on a weekend.
I cried on Friday night. In the bedroom alone. While he played computer games in the living room. I cried because I was scared I've become a person that will sit at home every day and every night. I cried because I couldn't remember the last time he and I did anything outside of the apartment together that was only the two of us. Anything we seem to do is always within a group activity. I cried because I worry we'll become two people who share a space, but live through separate screens. So I left home because I didn't feel like sharing that space with him. I drove into the city and got an ice cream cone by myself. I needed the reminder that I am still me without him. I can choose him and love him and be with him, but that doesn't mean I need him. I don't mean that in a less-than-romantic way. I need him because I want to need him. But I am capable of living my own life outside of his boundaries. I am independent and I can make my own decisions and I am my own person that is allowed to do what I want and when I want. I can make these decisions and I can be happy doing those things without him.
But that doesn't mean the feelings and fears go away. And it doesn't change the fact that a huge part of me and what I want to do with my life will be something that we don't ever share together. Not in a kindred and intimate way I want to. So my mood was low all weekend. I gave him the cold shoulder. I think one time he asked what was wrong and I mouthed the words, but no sound came out. Pretty bad at pretending. I'm sure his family thought I was quiet and moody and antisocial.
And he'd say things to me in front of them about our plans for the next day. Almost as if to make them think we had these plans so we couldn't spend time with them, but knowing full well in his mind that those were excuses because he didn't really care to go. And so those plans never happened. We just didn't ever do them. But that's all I wanted. I wanted for us to go for that walk around the lake, or go downtown for whatever reason. But I know that he doesn't want to. So I don't force him, nor ask, not even remind him. I only make sure he does what he wants to do.
I don't need it all the time. I know we're both not those people. I do love our homebody life. I think we're great together for that. We could someone that enjoys that as our most beloved joy. But I'd like to believe we're more than just two people that share a home. That we can be two people who share a life. Because I think there's a difference.