Today I went for a walk. It was cold, but amazing otherwise, I felt happy.
I realized that I don’t feel like myself because I feel so lonely. I miss feeling safe with people that I trust, who understand me. I think about how I lost my art. My dreams, my worlds. And I think more about this artist part of me and I realize I also lost the romantic part of me.
There was always a softer side to me. It wasn’t always about attachment theory and working on myself. I don’t regret going down that path at all, but I feel sad for the Jack who was left behind. The Jack who cries when he listens to the story of two sisters stuck in a Chicago together and one feels she betrayed the other one because she left her alone to sleep in the same bed as the flight attendant: https://www.thisamericanlife.org/175/babysitting/act-two-17
Or Neistat’s story about his girlfriend Candice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dALypGk3xbI
For me, even by telling the story, shows the depth of their love. They cared enough for these moments to be some of the most important in their life.
I think I always sought out a love story of my own. This is what I loved about college. So many opportunities for my love story to happen. This is why I wanted to learn daygaming, I just loved the idea of meeting someone on the street.
It’s why I liked the idea of dating my current girlfriend. Everything about it felt like a movie. Dating a girl on the other side of the world, and traveling to meet her in person. Finding my little sloth despite everything working against us.
I don’t want to forget the romantic in me. I want to be around people who see the magic like I do, and I feel safe around. People who allow me to get out of the fear and anxiety response long enough to feel more deeply. People who accept my story, who want to hear the truth, not what they want to hear. After all, a story about people being fake happy about everything is not a romantic one.
I think this is at least one part of the art that I’m missing. Art is one part exploring worlds, another part allowing you to feel deeply and effortlessly. Maybe another part is vulnerability, of pain.
This is what “high” art is missing. Feelings are lost behind academic musings. Worlds are exchanged for high philosophy. Pain is exchanged for numb confusion.