Catching Up
Dropping the vestiges
I realized recently that I could stand to change the way that I tell stories. Lately I’ve been telling the same ones over and over again without really pausing to think of whether they’re the truth of things as I see them now. It’s a familiar feeling I’ve had before: that feeling when I realize it’s time to retire that version of the story.
It may be the (happy) recent changing of the season, but this has been a mood for me lately. It’s definitely a hopeful sign. It’s starting to occur to me that I was in a bit of a haze the past couple of years, which I now recognize as the aftereffects of loss.
I mean, I felt the haze. I could not for the life of me get anything done when I moved back to Vancouver. I’m not sure if I was getting anything done before, but it became really obvious when I had fewer distractions.
But I was kind of in denial. I mean, I couldn’t do anything about it. I want to say I found it painful to deal with people and tasks, most of whom and which were New York-related and therefore reminded me of everything that had just happened. But I didn’t feel pain exactly; I was just numb and unable to take action or know how to move forward.
I’m only really putting this together now – at the time, I couldn’t explain it, and I just tried to stumble along as best I could. But it’s pretty obvious in retrospect: not only did I leave behind my self-determined home, friends, and life, but I went back to where I came from. Back to where all my old stories originated.
I can see now why everything suddenly became so slow. I mean, the pandemic didn’t help. I don’t like to paint myself as a victim, but the whole experience cumulatively caused enough trauma to slow me down, which is saying a lot.
So back to the stories. It took me a long time to do, but I made the Spectral Type website at the end of last year. It involved putting up a bunch of old writing – a lot of my published writing is over 10 years old now, from a very different time and written by a very different version of myself.
In order to create the new – in this case, some semblance of a portfolio in order to launch my writing business – I had to dredge up the past and find a way to bridge the gap between my history and who I am now. I’d always compartmentalized my work self, and at times my “work self” was pretty much the only version of me that anyone else saw. In recent years I’d actually created an existence for myself outside of that, but I couldn’t really align this with the old mask. I just kind of wanted (needed) to get rid of the mask entirely.
Moving back to Vancouver, as shitty as it was, presented an opportunity to drop the final vestiges of that work mask I’d created in New York. But Vancouver wasn’t a fresh start, either: I was returning to proximity to family, past people and places, and various ghosts. And I was also missing much of the good things that I’d built for myself in New York (though I was thankfully able to bring some of those good things back with me as well).
Part of me wonders if these relocation events, which were out of my hands on their face, somehow all arose out of some subconscious masochism on my part, punishing myself for doing what felt good instead of living up to what I “should” be doing. But it was also about circumstances that were set in motion by a past version of myself coming to fruition and being handled or thought of differently by the current version of myself. And, of course, fate. Adjustments needed to be made to accommodate growth.
I had in my notes that I’d write something current this week. I’m trying, lol. I think it just took me this long to catch up to the present.
Until next time,
Yours truly