This morning I was driving to work and one of my favorite songs (that I hate is one of my favorite songs because of who introduced it to me) shuffled on, Amel Larrieux’s “Make Me Whole“. It’s a beautiful love song. If you’ve never heard it, click that link up there and let it accompany your reading of this blog post. I’ve listened to this song a smooth billion and twelve times over the years in which I’ve known of its existence. At one point I’d considered it for a first dance song if I ever managed to get wifed. It’s almost perfect except for these three lines “your love completes my existence/ you’re the other half that makes me whole/ you’re the only other half that makes me whole”
This is a recurring theme in a lot of love songs and it really puts a stick in my craw. Mainly because romantic love shouldn’t be completion; but complementing. Two whole people should be coming together and building a life together that is rich with new and exciting adventures that only compound the sense of self they’ve already developed prior to the relationship. It shouldn’t be like one is rescuing the other, plugging holes that were left gaping by whatever circumstance of life. This kind of codependent ass thinking is why I feel like I’ve yet to have a successful relationship. I used to buy into the whole I’m searching for someone to “complete me” ass bullshit before seeing the error of my ways. I’m no shrinking violet, damsel in distress type chick. I had to take inventory of my life and see what holes I could plug my damn self instead of looking for validation from an outside source.
And now that she’s whole? Oh bitch…it’s lit. Not only am I better for myself, I’m even doper for someone else. My current first dance song contender contains the line “happiness happens when our hearts combine” Which is the perfect summation of what I hope will happen when I finally meet my #him. He’ll slide into place, perfectly. Like a dope verse over a tight beat or whateva. HA!
I was talking to someone about short stories on Twitter (Hi Brandon!) and remembered this. So I decided I wanted to share. Feedback is awesome or whateva.
I’m bullshitting. I should be writing my novel. Or doing homework. Or working out. But instead it’s a Friday evening and I’m sitting at home drinking a coffee stout and lamenting on what I should blog about. This blog has been neglected as of late and I wish I had better excuses, but the truth is ya girl is just…wack. But acknowledgment is half the battle or whateva, so I’m tryna do better.
Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. So as I was soliciting blog fodder on Twitter, my buddy suggested a topic that we were talking about via text earlier in the day and it would be a really good topic, but I don’t know how to broach it here without…ruffling some feathers, so I passed on it. I texted her to give her more specifics as to why I didn’t wanna blog about that thing right now and as a joke she texted back “You can write about me!” So this one is for you, Shake!
About a month ago I wrote a very specific post about my love village. Shake was singled out as the “sh” to my “ade”. We’ve known each other for less than a year, but I can honestly say that she is someone I hope is a forever friend. We clicked immediately, randomly connected via Twitter and eventually bonded over sportsball, books, and boozy brunches. She’s from one of the few states in the union I’ve yet to visit and am not so secretly plotting on getting her to show me around one day. And I’m 63% sure she’s gonna aid and assist me in finding my future ex-husband (#baewatch2k16). LMAO! But nah, seriously…
A few days ago I was having a conversation with some friends about whether or not it’s hard to make friends as an adult. I’ve found it is very easy and it is because of women like Shake. She’s openminded, secure in who she is as a woman, and invested in making sure that the growth of her friends happens on a parallel with her own.
She’s just good people; that’s the black ass bottom line. And through her I’ve met even more good people. So my life is #blest thanks to her presence or whateva.
(Alternately titled: No Carl Thomas)
Last week on Twitter I kept seeing this tweet circulate. Of course when I need to quote it now it’s nowhere to be found, but the basic premise was “what things excite you as an adult?” The more people answered the more I felt myself feeling sad for the majority of them. A lot of the responses leaned towards not much really exciting them in their adult lives.
My first thought was…damn is excitement supposed to wane with adulthood? The manner in which the question was posed lead me to believe that people think that once you reach “adulthood”, the zest and zeal for life is pretty much nonexistent. That makes me sad because what kind of life is that to lead, where damn near nothing really gives you the buzz of excitement.
My second thought was…am I that much of an outlier? I don’t remember whether or not I’ve discussed it on this here blog, but I’m hyper-emotive. When I’m happy, it’s with a capital H. When I’m sad, it’s deep down in the trenches of the emotional abyss. Every capitalized word is really me shouting. I’m almost always really “laughing my ass off” when the acronym leaves my fingertips. I’m never halfway into an emotion, it’s all or nothing. So, in turn, the littlest things bring me the greatest delight. Like the cafe having pepperoni pizza unexpectedly. Or when my Bluetooth syncs with Rosie on the first try when I hop in the whip after work. Or when I’m recognized for doing a good job at the gig. Or when a friend says that I’ve helped/encouraged/inspired them. All bring me the same amount of immense joy. Which in some cases is to my benefit, but mostly to my detriment.
Being aware of this of my tendency to over emote (& its reception) has caused me to pull back on fully expressing myself with others in a lot of scenarios. Especially if the vibe I’m picking up on in the room is not one of positivity. But each and every time I have to do this it feels like a tiny piece of my soul is being ripped from my being. Did I mention that in addition to being hyper-emotive, I’m also prone to hyperbole? But nah, seriously…I fight with completely suppressing my emotional state and just letting it all hang out daily. It’s crazy that something like this is still a struggle for me in my advanced age, huh?