I Miss You (Not)

When I watch a movie and a character says "I miss you," a little bit of my heart warms. But in real life, in most of my experiences (obviously can't speak for everyone else), the sentence "I miss you" is uttered with almost as much flippancy as the sentence "I love you."

I miss lots of things. I miss Disney World a lot. I miss watching cartoons on Saturday morning. I miss a certain little dog (that story coming soon).

But what really gets to you is when you miss people. And the thing is, you want to be missed. You want people to long for you to be in their lives, especially certain people. So when you hear "I miss you" and you know the person doesn't mean it, it makes hurt that much harder to get over, no matter how insignificant it is. No matter how much you think you've forgotten.

Recently, an old friend of my sister's commented on my sister's Instagram photo. The message read in part, "I miss you." My sister was surprised as she hadn't spoken to this person in years and this other person was the one who had left the friendship.

I wasn't too surprised, even though I knew it was disingenuous. I just expect it to be one of those things that people say without thinking or say when they don't want to make someone feel bad.

"I miss you" we tell that friend we never take the time to call.

"I'll miss you" we write in the yearbook of that school chum we know we won't bother to hang out with over the summer.

"I miss you guys" we tell a group of fun acquaintances after someone tell a really good joke and you're glowing in the endorphins and company.

"I'll miss you" we tell people who are leaving their lives, even, sometimes, when we don't really know them that well.

But doesn't it follow that if you miss someone, you do everything you can to let them know and close the distance? You call. You text at least occasionally. Surely, you do more than act like you were crossing your fingers behind your back when you said "I miss you."

Or maybe you don't because maybe, sometimes, we say "I miss you" for ourselves and not for the other person. Maybe it's just a way of saying, "I know we haven't talked in a while and though I'm not super bummed that you're not in my life anymore, I feel kind of guilty about the way things ended so I'm saying 'I miss you' even though no part of me longs for your company anymore so that you don't think that I just completely stopped caring because I don't want you to think I'm  cold, heartless person. But really, I'm fine without you. I'm just trying to make myself feel better because I believe you miss me a lot even though I haven't honestly asked you if you did, or maybe because you said 'I miss you' for the exact same reason I said 'I miss you.'"

Or so it seems.

So the enchantment is this: Maybe, just maybe, there's a few people out there who mean it when they say "I miss you."

Forgetting to Fly

I used to float in my dreams--push myself off the ground and experience a few moments of weightlessness as if the air and I were one. And a lot of times, I could fly, soar through the air and see the clouds and whatever was below me.

As I grew up, I had to focus hard to float slowly upward. Flying became harder and more energy-consuming and I had to swim in the air to stay afloat.

Maybe the effort I had to exert in my dreams mirrored my effort against how sucky life can be. Maybe my mind was letting things get me down and maybe my dreams were trying to grapple with that.

I don't remember all my dreams, but, except for nightmares, I have the impression that they used to be fanciful and fun and maybe even beautiful. These days, most of my dreams are either strange or disappointing--mostly both.

As I write this paragraph, I'm in the midst of a vivid dream aftermath when you remember most of the dream when you wake up and you recount it to yourself to make sure the details don't slip away later.

I dreamed I was in a sort of dreamhouse. It was almost like a luxury wooden cottage. It had tons and tons of rooms. Everything was a mess because it hadn't been cleaned in a while. There were two dogs--one small and fluffy and one large and short-haired--and I was wondering when the last time they had eaten was. There was even something like a Disney Store on the fourth floor. And though I knew someone else was taking care of the house and was visiting every few days, I had the distinct feeling that the house was mine and that I could do what I please with it. I'm pretty sure I had a key too. It was my property.

And then ... everything messed up. About twenty kids came over and I had to take care of them. A former friend showed up and I had to avoid her. And I was anxious about a million little things that I couldn't see but I could clearly feel.

In most of my dreams, I'm frustrated and overpowered. I try to yell and my voice comes out weak and hoarse and falls on deaf ears. I try to drive and I have to navigate impossibly steep hills (we're talking 90 degree angles here). I go to school and I get lost on campus or I fail a class.

I get in big trouble or I'm scared or something bad happens or I'm falling and then my subconscious reminds me it's a dream and I force myself to wake up.

Once in a while, I still dream about trying to fly. I end up swimming ineffectively, trying desperately to get some traction on the invisible air and failing miserably.

In the end, it's all our anxieties coming out in our dreams and messing with us, so that our brains can supposedly process our lives better. So we won't go insane.

But I can't see why my brain can't give me a break and give me happy dreams. Take me to Disney World, brain! Show me what it's like to sail around the world and find a private island!

Or, you know, don't show me my former friend in the house of my dreams and remind me that I haven't gotten over some stuff and that I don't know how much longer the hurt will last.

And please don't have me facing that same friend in another dream and have her say absentmindedly, "Isn't it weird how we never talk anymore?" and then not have her answer me when I tell her the truth.

Obviously, my brain and I have to work through some stuff together, but maybe it's better to have these dreams as long as I don't have to face exaggerated anxieties in real life.

The enchantment here? Just what I wrote. Bad dreams are just dreams and we don't have to let them come true.

I don't really do poetry

I think most of us fancy ourselves poets as least once in our lives, especially when we're told to write a poem in school.

I prefer poems that have a clear meaning while managing to be lyrical. It probably stems from my frustration with poems that I couldn't understand as I analyzed them in college classrooms. See, my problem is I tend to take things literally before I start seeing them as symbols. For example, in a college English course, I read the poem "Barbie Doll" by Marge Piercy. I thought it was about a woman who had become so unsatisfied with her body that she cut her nose and legs. In reality, the character had plastic surgery and apparently died of complications.

Of course, the meaning was fairly obvious once I heard it. Still, when I read these things, I tend to think, "Why not just say that with pretty words?"

So, when I have written poetry, I find myself trying to be deep and slightly symbolic and clear and--for lack of a better word--poetic, only to end up being obtuse. I'd still like to think though that any poems I've written (mostly ones I've had to write for class) have had a clear message.

So, in the spirit of knowing I will never be a poet, I present this specimen written in a moment of poetic hubris. I wrote it for a science and nature writing class after spending some time outside and wondering what I should write about. I remember sitting in a gazebo and seeing an ant crawl near me and later realizing that dirt was part of nature and it was literally everywhere. I may have also gotten the impresson that sitting in the gazebo was getting dirt on my clothes as well because that's what I tend to think when I'm outside.

As is obvious, I had some fun with the physical form because poetry amirite?

Aschenputtel, etc.

“A bit of earth—

“She wants a little bit of earth.

“She’ll plant some seeds.”

But can she not find it everywhere?

Dirt, sand, soil, earth.

Housing our trees, nourishing our flowers, displacing protein and cartilage as organisms decompose.

Soot on her dress.

Cinders on her face.

Wind and water buffet the rocks, creating sand and sand and more sand—the creation of multicolors, flavors, textures, and sands of time in the hourglass.

Ash exploding from the earth, burying a city.

Rendering it forgotten.

Grainy, rocky, dry, moist.

Dust on the mantelpiece.

Layered by time and settled by abandon.

Irritating pink membranes until covered by cream—desirable when hardened.

In the cracks of your skin, caked under your nails.

Scratching your eyes as your slide into home base.

Seeping into the lungs, sickening and clogging oxygen.

In the black mud pie.

Made fresh to order—heavy on the water, light on the gravel.

Sometimes free of dirt’s impurity but never free of its elements.

For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.

Too deep? Too shallow? Too much? It's whatever at this point.
So the enchantment is this: you can write poetry even when you're not a poet, and no one can stop you.

Love is a Funny Word

When I was in seventh grade, I made a few friends. And by "friends," I mean school friends, the kind that you hang out with only at school. They were all in eighth grade, so we didn't even share classes together except for a choir class. We sat at lunch together every day, and that was pretty much it.

We bonded to the point where we bought each other Christmas gifts. I've always wondered if that really meant something. On the one hand, it's a big deal for me to spend money on people, and as we tend to see the world through our eyes, I almost always assume it's a big deal for someone to spend money on me as well. On the other hand, it was a private school, and most of these kids were rich, so maybe they just could spend the money, which makes me doubt the validity of the gifts.

Anyway ... on my way to class one day, I passed by one of the girls and we exchanged some words about a present she bought me, the details of which are lost in my memory. The one thing I do remember is that the conversation ended with me shouting, "I still love you though!"

See by then, I had picked up some of their vernacular, which included liberally telling each other "I love you" in the spirit of young philea love. Those relationships fizzled out pretty fast for reasons that are too convoluted to post here. But from then on, I was aware of the fact that some friends felt the freedom to express their love to each other.

That's when the cynicism started setting in. For good reason, I might add. We'd all like to think that love means forever. It's strong and lingering and unquenchable when nurtured. So when I said "I love you" to those temporary friends, did I really mean it? Did I love them at the moment? Or did I only think that because my ego was flattered?

These questions have followed me into my other friendships as well. Depending on the situation, I start thinking, "Okay, we've openly expressed that we love each other as friends. Then why do you not act like I'm your friend?" And then things change, and love either turns cold or the feelings of love turn out to be mirages--beautiful to see but impossible to feel.

This self-imposed cynicism, built in part by the dictates of the company I've kept, has lead me to keep the word "love" to myself and those I truly know I love. Of course, when it's not people, I'm okay using it. I do use the word to express my excitement for things/celebrities/hobbies I enjoy. I liberally say, "I love this song" or "I love this actor. He's the best." But when it comes to a person standing right in front of me--that's when I my love meter goes into hyperdrive.

Several times, would-be friends have told me they love me, and I freeze as several questions run through my head. Would it sound mean if I don't say "I love you too"? Do I just say, "Aw that's nice"? Why the heck is this person saying that? We never talk to each other. Not really anyway. I've tripped up and lied, feeling awkward and experiencing the burn of being disingenuous as I muttered "I love you too."

Thinking like this can be exhausting but worth it. But it can also take its toll on you when you realize that some people you said "I love you" to can turn their back on you just when you thought everything was going to be fine. Which, of course, makes you all the more cautious. Sure, I believe in opening up your heart to people, but you have to admit that little bit of cynicism can keep you from being hurt. At least it's worked for me. Sometimes.

So the enchantment is this: There are a few people you can believe when they say "I love you" and that's enough to make up for all the fakes.