Thursday, April 22, 2010


Did you ever have one of those mornings, or whole days, where it's like your music collection knows exactly what's going on in your head and plays 10 million songs in a row that remind you of whatever it is? I'm having one of those days, and it is simultaneously uplifting me and breaking my heart.

I got some news last night that I've been expecting for a while, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Because I've been anticipating it, I don't really feel any different. I feel like I can finally let go, say goodbye, really and truly move on. That at this point, goodbye is a formality. Which is good, because I'm at a place where I want to do that, am ready to do that, have a way to do that. I'm at a place where I'm excited about the future instead of buried in the past.

On the other hand, my ipod and pandora have both decided that today is a good day to play me songs that remind me of the thing I'm saying goodbye to, and I'm both thankful for that and hating it. I hate that I'm reminded of it and that I'm having this huge, emotional experience, literally as I type. I even cried on the train this morning. I hate that I can't really think about anything else, that all of these fears and desires are resurfacing. That they still exist. I don't really want to dwell on it- I've got a good life, and it's not really helping to think of something I don't have anymore that I, at one time, badly, sorely, strongly wanted. But I'm also thankful for it, because I feel like I'm getting the chance to honor that time in my life. By reliving it a bit, I'm getting to look back on all of the amazing things I got to experience. And the not so amazing things- what is one of the best and bravest things I've ever done is also arguably one of the stupidest and most self-damaging. But I learned so much, and all of this music is reminding me of that.

I'm of the opinion that we never really truly have closure from something. I guess to make that claim means I need to define closure. defines it as a sense of psychological certainty or completeness. I think that sometimes we can go through an experience that makes us feel that: for instance, last night was kind of the final that's enough, now of the whole thing. I may have certainty, but I don't have completeness- I will always come back to think about the experience as a whole, how I felt, what I learned from it. Reflection is such a huge part of who I am that I will never fully leave something behind.

But maybe that is completeness. Maybe my ability to put it in the category of something that happened versus something that is happening means that, at least in my world, it's complete. It's closed.

But with all this music reminding me of the sun streaming through the windows, the craziness of my heartbeat, the unexpectedness of it all, it sure doesn't feel that way. I guess I need one more think about it before I say goodbye. Bring it on, iTunes.

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