#14 Kiss Me Goodbye
I think about the passage of time and find myself in admiration—especially this year, which has been full of change and adjustment. I’ve been able to move on from old feelings, allowing the sting of rejection, inconsideration, and lack of mutuality to hurt me less and less as the days pass. Being even just a day away from anything brings me so much peace of mind. It doesn’t need to mean anything, but to me, it means that I’ve been able to keep going—to keep living. To have faith in myself enough to let what’s next unfold. To have faith in my goals enough to keep pursuing them. To love myself enough to keep finding reasons to smile.
I’ve reminisced myself into bad days, spiraled into thoughts and moments heavy, so heavy. But I’ve used my surroundings as a tool to keep going. When I go hiking, I run and skip over overgrown roots, reaching for balance. I hold hands with branches and allow floating logs to carry me over every water break. I laugh so hard. Me and the forest, both expansive to the nth degree.
This is where I feel free.
In the shallows of November, I realized I was living every day waiting for the next. All I could think about was my upcoming trip to Japan. Still, there was much to be done. Days passed while I felt held by my sensitive heart, which carried me through what felt like loss—or the aftermath of a really bad week, over and over again. Tired, exhausted, and sleepless by the end of each day. I wrote my dreams down with one eye open and one eye closed. My dream book lies at my bedside, scribbled—though you could read it if you tried with squinted eyes.
On November 2nd, I was on my way to Mid City Mercado’s Dia de Los Muertos Festival to perform 20 minutes of my poetry. I reflected all day on the importance of celebration and how my words and poetry can morph for me into anything I ask them to. While parking, I got into an accident—10 minutes before my set time. It wasn’t my fault (for real), but I had no control over my flooded eyes, and I wished I didn’t have to show my face. Right before the accident, I spoke a long prayer into the belly of my truck, Dallas. I reminded myself that I place so much trust and faith in God, and not to forget that a misstep is not the wrong path at all. And balance takes work—or faith, rather. And it all circles back.
I remembered that my loneliness is where my energy refuels, my feelings decompress, my body rests, and my brain reflects. All the ingredients to get back to feeling inspired—one of the most important things to me in a day. Because, if I’m not inspired by even the mundane, then I’m taking my life for granted. And I’m not moving myself forward. I often perform my poetry in spaces where I’m invited and warmly welcomed but arrive alone, seeing no familiar faces. It doesn’t necessarily feel like a lack of support, just... lonely. Yes, there’s a certain way that “lonely” feels. But as I get older, I realize that being alone is so necessary—and again, I have to remind myself that this is when I grow, like when I hike alone.
Alone is when I feel free.
After draping myself over my steering wheel and letting a thousand teardrops hydrate the skin of my arms, I performed maybe five of the 20 minutes I was allotted—they’re lucky they got anything out of me. But really, I was the lucky one. In the back of the crowd, I saw my dear friend Amina and her sweet partner, Kurush. She felt like a beacon of light! Where I first felt so alone. Thank you, Amina. I thanked the individuals running the space where I performed, and one of them, Karen, a stranger to me, held my hand and kept holding it tight. She felt like home. And when I walked back to my car, I cried even harder for the pure love I was shown—simply because someone wanted to make me feel loved. Someone wanted to make ME feel loved. Someone wanted to make me feel loved.
I remembered the prayer I breathed before the accident: to feel my purpose in every space I find myself. So much is out of my hands—even if I intentionally grab it, I could be holding something so tight, and that fact remains. Holding onto something does not make it mine. Holding onto something does not prevent the thing from changing. Holding onto something only means I’m stuck in the past. Every passing second brings change to everything. And keeping something from changing only keeps us from changing in turn—from evolving. From receiving.
I wish people would understand and accept that love can be given without expectation of anything in return. That it can be completely platonic, too. People show love because they want to. They feel it’s deserved. People show love because their empathy tells them someone or something needs it. People show love because it’s inherent to them, not because they need it back. What a thing it is to want to make someone feel loved. We are so lucky to come across those kinds of people. Again, I’ve said this so many times, but I wish people cared more. People don’t necessarily care about the simple actions of love shown in a day. People exist in their own worlds. And in our individual world, people don’t exist for us, and we don’t exist for them.
I like to think this way because it keeps me responsible for myself—my actions, my feelings, my goals, and my dreams. This is not to say that what we do or don’t do, say or don’t say, doesn’t affect others. But it is important to remain true to ourselves. No people-pleasing. Just genuine care, love, and support. I look at it like living life as if no one is watching you. The way we act and show up for ourselves, with that in mind, says a lot about us. We can all learn ourselves more intimately when we turn that switch on.
Recently, I’ve been in a space where I’m experiencing rejection again. I’ve had to read the empty spaces and quiet moments for exactly what they mean to tell me. “Hmm, yes, okay,” I acknowledged to myself last we spoke, “so that’s it then.” And awkwardly, and uncomfortably tucked myself into my bed to quickly begin a new day. Remember in blog #13, “Fresh Eyes,” when I said I have to make the decision to separate myself when that time feels right? Time has come. And I don’t ignore the signs anymore. I live for me, me, me. Just as people live for them. There’s not a hard feeling about it in my body—irritation, yes. A bit of longing for a different and better outcome, too. But it is what’s fair, and it’s important that I take people’s actions, and lack thereof, as the reality they’d prefer—as the words they don’t say. I found myself in a strange loop, and although it was a loop I couldn't find an end to, there still seemed to be no actual connection in the end, either.
Enough on that.
I went to Japan. JAPAN! Last month, I went to Japaaaann. My first time. My sweet friend Jasmine texted me late in October asking if I wanted to take the trip. I felt really honored that someone, who I wasn’t even very close to at the time, wanted to travel with me. We bought our tickets a few days later. There was nothing to consider for me. I had been yearning for a change of scenery or hoping to forget a few feelings I couldn’t shake, hoping awe and inspiration would take their place. The trip was beyond inspiring—it was fun, relaxing, challenging, and so expressive in many sensory ways. There’s so much more to say about my trip, and I honestly think I’d like to make a separate blog solely dedicated to it. (Let me know if you’d want that!)
People you see the world with become more than just friends in your life. It would be impossible to talk about, write about, or remember this trip, and my life after the trip, without mentioning Jasmine. Since I've been home, Jasmine and I have seen each other almost every day. She’s become my sister, truly. Right before we flew to Japan, we spent two days together in NYC and quickly realized we are almost the same exact person. And definitely the missing piece in each of our personal puzzles.
When Bailey’s long-lasting relationship ended years ago, her life changed so drastically. And as her sister, I watched so much unravel. Yet, she healed over time and found solace, fun, love, and laughter in a friendship with one other person. I remember being in awe of that—the joy and laughter they shared, despite the upheaval and transformation in her life. I admired and longed for a friendship that mirrored what I admired in theirs. They became each other’s reason for a season of time.
And I wondered how my sister did it—made the decision to change her entire life as she knew it. I found it so brave. I told myself often that if Bailey could do it, then so could I. And when it came time to pull my life apart, I hoped I’d find my reasons when I needed them, just the same. And I did. My friends Karen, Alexia, Jessyca, Karla, Johanna, Zari, Idriys, Nicole all held me DOWN (and my sisters, of course). I cried to Karen, who often, very often, held me and made me tea and stayed on the phone with me for hours. We'd go to In-N-Out at midnight and watch movies in the car while we ate and cried and laughed together between bites of our burgers. Idriys spoke with me like a wise brother, grounding me with hard truths and reminding me over and over again to stand up. Jessyca is my big sister forever and supported me in every way she could. Alexia is my cup of hot tea, my long walk in the most beautiful place on earth—she knows what I mean. Johanna kept me going, kept me sane. Danced with me, and healed with me. Karla made space to hear me—much needed. Zari and I laughed and laughed and LAUGHED. And Nicole sent me love and checked on me often. And now, I’m here—healed and healing, folding and unfolding, learning and unlearning. I have all of my reasons. And what a beauty it is when life gives you exactly what you need: more reminders that the reasons are never-ending.
It’s easy to recognize my friendship with Jasmine as one of those reasons with which I’m so lucky to be reminded. The joy I have lived with her in my life has been… overwhelming in the best way. Not only do we laugh really fucking hard almost every moment, but we take care of each other. And we’re real with each other. And whatever void I wish could be filled romantically has taken a backseat more than usual because of it. Joy is simply what I’ve needed for a long time.
In the same breath…
Truthfully, I miss being in love. In love with someone romantically. I have dreams and aspirations that exceed the depth of which I feel for romantic love. But I do miss it. And I miss missing someone. I miss having someone to kiss. I miss wanting to love someone. The in-betweens of dating are not for me. I find them a waste of my time and don’t necessarily care to deal with the games of ego when my feelings are really so sensitive and genuine.
Truthfully, I only want to care for myself. I’ve watched myself change so much this year. It doesn't feel right to share my time with people who don’t understand how hard I have worked internally this year. It’s not their fault for their lack of knowledge, but it’s my responsibility to put myself first, to keep my feelings safe, and to make my dreams come true. And with all this change and evolution, I have to give myself the time and space to continue it. I’m so grateful for my friendships, which have made my life feel immensely full. And I’m so grateful that a new calendar year is starting, bringing energy, joy, and renewal.
I do still feel sad to let go of the year. Every day, I leave a piece of who I am in the past. To be even just a day away from a new part of me makes me embrace the person I am in the present even harder—with warmth, with love, with so much love. I’ve reminded myself through all things thick, to remain kind, gentle, and patient. And that forgiveness is a superpower that is so intimate and personal. We should forgive silently and move on because nobody deserves the forgiveness more than ourselves. And in silence, with ourselves, we can hear and feel and say and become so much more than anything outside of ourselves. The more I interact with people, the more I realize I like to be alone (with a cat sitting on the love seat behind me, or in any near proximity). I love that silence makes me feel so intensely whatever feelings have begged all day to appear. Feelings teach me lessons, and alone, I learn the best because I feel the most. Still, I asked the year to end sweetly and kiss me goodbye.
I can’t give in to the void—yes, it exists. But it doesn’t need to appear as a missing piece, a space that needs to be filled. I acknowledge that I’d love for there to be someone in my life who I like and enjoy romantically, to spend time with here and there. To sit at a coffee shop and read or write together, or simply get our work done together in the same room in silence. Or to listen to music really loud and jump around together. To lay on our backs next to each other in silence. Those things feel so intimate to me. Those are the things I find myself daydreaming of. BUT, just because I don’t have that does not mean I will go out looking for it. It’s clear that what I need now in my life is to get my work done and stay focused. It’s clear that my mission right now is to harness my strength to get through those feelings of yearning and, step by step, reach all the goals I’ve set out for myself. This is how my brain works: I feel something, it deepens, my brain analyzes the feeling, and I understand how to get through it. I don’t let my feelings overpower anything anymore. Still, in a day, I YEARN. And I want things I know are not for me right now. But they wouldn’t hurt. They would be sweet.
How sweet is it to have someone to share small intimacies with? That’s all I’m saying. And I remind myself, by thinking, saying, and typing all of that, that those small intimacies can be shared with any person I love. Those are all the things I do with my friends. So it becomes clear to me, all over again, and I remember my “reasons.”
Hiking helps me through all of these feelings. One day, the water level was lower than usual, which made the hike feel much different, revealing new paths and rock patterns. I detoured through one of the unfamiliar paths and found myself in the middle of the stream on top of a big rock pattern of three. I laid on my back across the biggest one in the middle. And felt my muscles tighten from the cold, bare stone. And my spine corrected itself over the dips and rough edges. And my lungs filled for a long moment. And my eyelids closed. And I rested.
The next time I hiked, I stopped at the same rocks. This time, I listened to GNX from front to back while standing, jumping, and dancing on top of that rock. At moments, I sat criss-cross and let my fingertips fall into the stream, grazed by the pulses of every water beat.
This is where I like to be alone. This is where I don’t feel alone. This is where I feel my heart race and not skip a beat. And music, water, and rocks hug me, and I hug and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss them back.
And okay, maybe I did cry a little. And I wrote a poem too:
I watched the river run over rocks rippling past rough edges and small creases cracked in the center.
I watched how water makes nature change color—the way we see things.
I went home and under hot water hoped the same could be said for me.
I watched water make music and found it’s simpler than it seems.
I watched water make music and, in my wrinkled reflection, make me cry.
I watched my tears become a song I’ve never heard of in my life.
I watched my tears become a song I’ve never heard of in my life.
I watched my tears become a song I’ve never heard of in my life.
Lastly, I wrote and self published a book of poetry in 2023 titled Earth to Infinity. You can buy it in the “Shop” tab along with bookmarks and prints of my poetry, hand written and scanned by myself. If you enjoyed this blog or at least made it to the end, consider supporting me and purchasing an item (or a few). Thank you in advance ❤︎
Love 4ever,
Blair