It’s been a week since I recommitted to journaling every day. I used to pull from a tarot card deck each morning, but for a while, I couldn’t bring myself to do the ritual. I’d tied such a critical part of my routine to another person and that made me feel weird once I decided to take a closer look at why I’d been avoiding the practice. The tarot and oracle decks I pulled from daily were given to me by someone I’d seen for a few months some time ago. It was causal, but I still tripped myself up over her. Writing daily was something that was and still is important to me, and at this point, is a therapeutic tool. I needed to figure out a way to want to write, but for myself and without thinking of anyone else. Writing weekly here is great, but there’s a subconscious performative aspect to it I can’t shake myself from feeling. I’m bringing it up in therapy later today, worry not. I also haven’t been writing as much poetry as I did at the beginning of the year. During a phone call with my dad this weekend, he asked if I could send him one poem a week because time for him moves a little quicker when there’s something to look forward to during the week. We still speak each Saturday morning. I’m hoping to use his request as a means to at least write one a week.

Back to writing for myself, though. I love notebooks. I currently have maybe twelve of them and none are filled completely. I don’t know why finishing one before starting another hasn’t something I’ve ever found desirable, but it’s cool to see the progress throughout all of them. I tend to date most of my entries, even if they’re just little blurbs, not really poems or even complete thoughts sometimes. A week and a half ago, I bought a notebook from the dollar store next to the laundromat while waiting for my clothes to wash. I knew I wanted to start a new notebook on my birthday and see how consistent I could be. The stakes are pretty low. It’s a spiralbound black journal with only one hundred sheets in it. The dimensions are 8.75” x 5.75”. I’m writing on one side of the sheet each morning. If I keep up that pace, I’ll have finally completed a notebook and will have done so well before I turn 29. I enjoy soft goals.

Before this weekend, I’d written in the notebook first thing in the morning, even before checking my phone. It felt good to just let out whatever was on the top of my mind. I have yet to go through those entries and don’t know if I will for a while. I'm not the type of person to immediately reflect on my writing.

I went away for the weekend. Approximately 20 friends of mine rented out an Airbnb from Friday night through Monday morning in celebration of my and my dear friend Lou’s birthdays up in Wisconsin. A time was had. A magical, funny as fuck, sometimes unreal time was had.

There were many instances when I found myself engulfed in conversations that made me feel so heard in another’s words, listening can be so fucking beautiful. If you would’ve told me a year ago that I would’ve willingly gone on a trip with that many people I’d known for such a short amount of time, I don’t know if I would’ve believed you. For so long I thought that I was this person unable to develop and maintain several friendships with as much emotional depth as the ones I have now. I thought I was always going to be someone that only I understood, someone with walls no one could move past and talk through until I decided it was time for them to come down. Not to constantly bring up my marriage, but the way that relationship ended didn’t help.
Words like, “forever” or “always” tasted foul and fake on my tongue after the divorce. I’ve been trying to remember what it feels like to be vulnerable again in a way that’s more intentional. This weekend proved to me that so many people are willing to meet me where I am, wherever that may be.

Within the overall time spent in group settings, I found myself retreating a lot of the weekend and watching others in the group do the same. Most of my alone time was spent atop what I called The High Castle, or as my friend J referred to it, The Queer Penthouse. It was a fort of sorts attached to a children’s play set with swings of both the tire and regular variety, a slide just about each one of us got stuck trying to go down and both rope and rock walls. I loved it. It reminded me of one of the houses I’d lived in back in Indiana. Over the last few days, I did my writing up there and would peer out across the massive backyard and take in the different, quiet universes that existed around me:

Friends in the grass, taking in the late morning glow.

Friends speaking low in the hot tub, swapping kisses, stories and secrets.

Friends playing card games on the patio.

Friends laying in the hammock by the fire

Listening to music, talking to partners, or with a journal in hand.

Friends watching the morning sunrise.

Friends wrestling for clothes pins because of a game another friend taught us.

Friends being friends.

Friends being lovers.

Friends being family.

There were so many moments I could see from where I sat, and though I know I didn’t journal about what I saw in those moments, they’re all still fresh in my mind. I think I’ll remember this trip for the rest of my life.

I wish I could project on a screen to you what plays on in my mind right now. I wish you could feel how badly I want to be back in a world where the trees stayed golden and the sun shone warmer than it should've in late October. I wish I could make you feel the warmth that still floods me even though the sky is now gray and there’s rain falling. I think there was magic among us this weekend, or maybe that’s my lover's brain talking. Either way, I’m into it.

I hope I can continue to lean into this warm pool every time I feel the need to be known and held. There will always be a part of me that wants tender embraces and soft touches, but with the kind of love I’ve received lately, that desire isn’t as loud as it sometimes is. Being grateful doesn’t describe what I’m feeling strongly enough, but it will do for now.

To my friends, my family, I love you more than words can do justice. Thank you for holding me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for letting me be alone but doing so in a way that doesn’t feel lonely. You get me and I get you.

Until next time.