Floating on a Conversation
When was the last time you lost track of time during a conversation?
I was in my hometown for the weekend. She lives there. She was just back home after a couple of months abroad. We took the opportunity to finally meet and catch up.
“Yes! I saw that video, and I loved it! I actually thought about texting you when I did. It reminded me of what we talked about last time.”
“That ‘Send’ button didn’t work again, huh?”
“Stop it! Actually, I did not get to that point, I didn’t even type a message.” She lets out an embarrassed laugh before she continues. “You know how lazy I can be on social media.”
Her eyes were shining. Her hand gestures were accompanying her talk.
She was talking about this very moving commercial going viral during that time. At some point, it goes:
“Sometimes, the journey is life-changing. Sometimes, we change the world. But most of the time, the world changes us.”
We both could not relate more to that.
“I could identify so closely with that. I was, many times, one of the people waiting for theirs to come back, and last time I was on the other side of ‘The Arrivals’ room. I came back with so many stories I couldn’t wait to share with my people and they seemed to be so excited to hear them.”
She was putting all her senses in motion. I could feel she was talking from her heart.
“But, I don’t feel you can ever tell those stories genuinely and feel them the way they happened.”
We came a little early so that the place won’t be loud and we sat at the bar. Authentic and cozy.
“You’re right, those are stories to be lived, not to be said. And between what happened and what is told, authenticity and so much magic are lost.”
She took a short break as we were getting our drinks served and then continued, “And, to be honest, I’m not quite sure that our people are really willing to hear every detail of our trip with real excitement, even if they do say they are.”
“The excitement does cool off quickly, doesn’t it?”
“Sadly, it does,” she admits. “At first, there was this honeymoon phase when I just came back and everyone wanted to hear everything. But, there were times where I was starting to tell a story from my trip, and while I was telling it, making sure to remember every single detail, I started checking my friends’ faces seeking for signs of interest, hoping I was not annoying them… And, seconds later, I felt that the interest was fading away and so was my flame to finish that story… I finished it anyway because I had to, but I really wished that I never had started it in the first place.”
I was emphatically nodding along while listening to her. I could feel her struggle. “Would you believe me if I said that the same thing happened to me many times?”
She smiles. “I do, I feel that you have been there and you can understand me. That’s why I’m telling you about this.”
We had to shout in each other’s ear now to be heard over the sound of the music getting unnecessarily and unreasonably louder.
I waited for a low transition between two tracks to be able to place a sentence. “And once that the you-coming-back extravaganza is over, those stories are all yours and only yours again.”
“And they can peacefully rest in my memories.” She let out a long sigh and said between two sips of her drink. “You know…You are the first person I’m going to confess this too. I think…I think that the last two months were the most awkward and uncomfortable for me during my whole life.”
I could almost see in slow motion the heavy words hardly falling off her lips and emotion tears starting to drop off her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I was in this uncomfortable place, completely shaken up when I came back. I felt like I’d lost my bearings. I was here and there. I was torn apart by what I left there and by what is pulling me back here.”
Listening to her was giving me goosebumps. All of that had happened to me as well, but I was never able to say it nakedly the way she was doing. “And I guess you didn’t even have the time to withstand the shock..”
She shook her head and kept going. “I was in this strange and disturbing place where I was questioning everything, even the meaningless things that I had been fine with during all the years I lived here. The things I had seen and heard for so long without paying any particular attention were then disturbing me in my deep soul.”
Curiously, she never stopped smiling while talking out her sadness. And it made me wonder how sadness could make her smile. Or was she feeling relieved to get it out of her system? I was not sure about that but I was sure it was beautiful. Beautifully sad.
It made me wonder. And without even thinking, I was smiling back.
She said, “My friends have always taken the fact that I’m a good-living and enthusiastic person for granted. They always tell me they love having me around because I spread happiness. And they were glad I was back home because they would get to spend more time with the always-happy-me again.”
“But, they failed to understand that you needed to be sad for a while, did they?”
“Worse, I felt bad for being down. I felt that I owed it to them to be happy around them. There was no place for me to be sad. And I could not take it. So it got worse.”
I didn’t want her to keep anything inside. She needed to get it off her chest. “So, not only were you sad, but you had to hide it as well?”
“At some point, I tried to talk it out, but people would just joke about it and give you demoralizing answers like ‘Come on, this is not you, where did that vivacious and perky girl go? I want her back!’ But, it is not a button you press, for God’s sake!”
“I know, you’re right! But, eventually you will just joke back, tell them they’re right and maybe even thank them for cheering you up, for appearances’ sake.”
She laughs. “That’s what I do! And then I just put back that happy mask again.”
“But deep inside, you regret sharing those intimate thoughts with them.”
“Yeah…I’m really glad I was able to talk to you about it, though.”
“And I’m happy you got to do it. Come here.”
She leans towards me and we gently hug.
More people were coming to the place; it was getting crowded and even noisier. She suggested that we move outside, by the pool.
We did. It was quiet and almost empty, a little chilly but perfect for us. We could still see the people partying inside through the glass. We sat right next to the lightened pool. More ground spotlights nicely reflected their soft light on the walls.
“I wonder why people don’t consider the possibility that the person in front of them might carry so much weight.”
“And I wonder why the person who’s carrying that weight keeps being so private about it instead of opening up, I’m sure that everyone has something worth sharing. Don’t we all have our fights, inside and outside? People have got to share their worlds and help each other carry their weights.”
“It is easy to say, but there is that part of us that won’t let us just unfold our intimacies to the first person we run into.”
“I hate that part of us!”
“Sometimes it is a complete stranger you share things with and they would be the most understanding, more than your closest friends.”
“And by ‘complete stranger’ I hope you are not referring to me?”
She laughs again. “Of course not! But, you haven’t been around for a long time; you show up now and here I am welcoming you into my most intimate thoughts.”
“So yeah, I’m the complete stranger.”
She admits “Yes, you are.”
We both laugh.
She notices, “Those were some deep thoughts we dove into,” before looking right at me seeking for a sign of agreement.
“We did. Sometimes we do over-feel and overthink things. Sometimes, it may feel like a weakness, but I think it’s the complete opposite. I really believe that it’s a gift and it makes us emotionally stronger. Being sensitive is beautiful and gives us a superpower to embrace life and to see beauty everywhere. It could make us happy or sad, but always in a beautiful way. Either beautifully happy or beautifully sad. We just feel things with the intensity they are meant to be felt with. We’re lucky to be able to taste all these aromas in life.”
She seemed both comforted and skeptical. “Do you think that us being able to unlock this capability of feeling things with such intensity, gets us in a special circle of people who are able to do so? Are we special?”
“Maybe.. Or maybe everyone, at a certain point, would think about stuff this way but would keep it deep inside themselves. We were lucky to find someone to talk to and reflect on it. They sadly weren’t.”
We fell silent for a while allowing the music to come out from the lounge to fill in the atmosphere. Then, she broke the silence with two words, on a curious tone, that apparently wasn’t easy for her to get out of her throat.
“I’m afraid.”
“Afraid? What are you afraid of?”
“The future, especially the near one. I really don’t know what the next year will bring. I mean, I know I will inevitably and officially enter adulthood but I surely don’t want to be one of those millions of persons whose job will take control of their life, pushing away any kind of passion that used to exist in their life. I don’t want to become that kind of adult. I don’t want to be that person who, at the end of the day, will turn off the lights, scroll their news-feed on their smartphone for 30 minutes and go to sleep, being proud of the piece of shit that they’ve become.”
More goosebumps. I have fought that behavior but am I still that kind of person? I quickly chased that thought away and tried to back her up. “Then don’t, I’ve been there and I know it isn’t easy. Transitions are so delicate. You’re in that place where you’re about to leave many people and things behind, taking-off to something new and unknown. Your heart is filled with this cocktail of fear mixed with this strange adrenaline coming from the internal powers that you’ve been saving for this moment, but you have absolutely no idea how you will use them. You’re strong and weak at the same time. You’ve changed and you’re about to change even more. And I’m sure you’ll absolutely love the new level you’ll achieve in your personality.”
“I hope so… I will tell you one more secret.”
“This is my lucky day, what is it?”
“Yeah, and you’ll only be the third person I ever tell about this.”
“Well, I and the other two guys really appreciate that you’re sharing this with us.”
She let a sardonic laugh. “You all better be! I’m serious, though!”
She continued, “Well when I think about that fear of letting down my passion, there is always this idea of a particular painting that I imagined pops up to my head. It is the picture of a Flamingo trying to get from one platform to another, walking on this very thin and fragile line that connects both sides, and there is an infinitely deep hole between them. The flamingo is very close to the goal but the line is so fragile it could break at any time and cause him to fall in the scary gorge.”
I was dazed; that description left me speechless for a few seconds before I was able to splutter a few words. “Wow…That’s all disturbingly meaningful… And also, it would make a beautiful painting. Did you paint it?”
“Not yet. I’m afraid to do so.”
“I’m pretty sure that your flamingo is going to reach his destination though, I really do, because you seem to care so much about him. It’s not easy but you can set up the challenge and keep doing the things you’re passionate about even after you start your professional life. I believe everyone has a spark in their life, something they are passionate about and that will bring them happiness and satisfaction. Yours is obviously painting, you should never stop painting.”
“I don’t even think I can stop. I can spend hours painting and I won’t feel time passing by. There is nothing in life that makes me escape the present like a painting. My dream is to have my own exposition of paintings and photos and travel the world exposing it to people and exchanging with them on my art. What about you? What is your spark?”
I smile. I hesitate. I never know if I dare to be honest about this. I finally spit it out. “Mine is to make a movie. I have always felt and believed that I would be able to say so much through the eye of a camera. I dream of that magic moment when I will take my spectators on a two-hour movie trip, telling them all those stories the way I tell them the best, feeling the waiting, the tension, the tears, the happiness, the emotions, the magic…I might be far away from my dream now but it is always with me in the back of my mind. Or is it in my heart, I don’t know…But, it is living inside me. I’m waiting for the day it will get out of my body, contain me, and fuse with my soul. I live for that day.”
“Well, I will make sure to be in the first row the day of your first movie’s premiere!”
“Only if you promise that you will clap until your hands will hurt at the end of the movie.”
She laughs. “I will, I promise!”
Do you ever wonder how would the hereafter look like? I also do:
Have you ever met your 8-year-old self? I did, and I wrote a story about it:
