Monday, September 5, 2011

a reminder.

The art on one of the benches at a Bethesda circulator stop.
I betrayed my best friend in the second grade, and sealed the secret with a simple agreement between my fellow traiter and me: we pinky swore to never tell anyone what happened. We kept that secret and never spoke of it again, though soon it became forgotten about anyways. But that simple act assured our promise, no matter how trivial it was. We saw it as if it were a matter of life or death. That's what promises mean when you're young. We took things so much more seriously back then.

I made a pinky promise via AIM with Andrea recently. It's one of those promises we know the both of us would never literally fulfill, but it's this assurance of accountability, and I do imagine we'll follow through in some way. I like to think I keep my promises, no matter how ridiculous or random they may seem.

I've made recent pinky promises too that fell apart for...well, you tell me. I had a dream last night in which we made more of those promises, but unlike the me that made those promises six months ago, the me in the dream knew they were false. Whenever I wake up from these dreams, I can't tell if they were nightmares or not. The adrenaline drives me to write, and the words tumble out as awkwardly as they form in my mind. But purging your heart is better than keeping quiet sometimes; there are only so many unanswered moments of vulnerability you can really take. And while it feels like a strong thwack of a hammer and another bit of you me is chiseled away, it's good for you me.

A few days ago, I came across an experience that reminded me why I emotionally over-invest in people: because I have this stupid obsession with the things that make us all unique and beautiful. That inspires me in a way I'd forgotten about, in a way to not be afraid of pursuing my own thoughts "as if they really, really matter," as Cortney wrote to me yesterday. And that's just it, isn't it? To find worth in our words and thoughts when our attempts to share hit walls. I can't make pinky promises the way I could when I was seven, but I can make real promises as a 22-year-old who is absolutely certain that she wants to live a unique and beautiful life, no matter who walks in and out. That is an honest promise, a genuine pursuit that I won't compromise in order to "fit in."

1 comment:

  1. Sometimes we're at our most honest and brilliant in the wee hours of morning :-) Love you!