Meaning(less)

Posted on April 3 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I have been consistently warned
                away from entertainment
                                wasting time
                                not doing something meaningful.

I think for the most part that is good advice – to not waste my life.

But.

Maybe there are also places for simplicity
                                           enjoyment
                                           minimalistic moments
                                                 of breathing
                                                       that don’t have to mean
                                                                 anything.

Maybe I have legalistically chucked that pendulum
                                           to the do everything significant side
                             and it has now flown back at me
                                    and
           smacked me in the face.
       Hard.

Sometimes when I don’t force myself
             to do something big
                                   meaningful
                                   essential
             that’s when I regain
                    the most clarity
                           and can finally hear my thoughts
                                                       enough
                                    to figure out my life (a little bit).

When I do allow myself those few times
     of doing something inefficient
          I tend to feel like something
                                        shifts.

Ideas start to surface
Thoughts gain some strange lucidity.
Some things in my head
     start to form actual shapes.

And although it still may be unrecognizable at this level
                it is apparent
          almost like I allowed the frustrating
                    mess of junk in my head
                         to figure out a starting point
                         and begin to work itself out
                               without my help
                                            or interference.

          Like dreams –
               when the pieces start to put themselves together
                    and I don’t have to work quite so stringently
                              to shove them into place.

I have this tendency to push myself so hard
                             always
          to do something that matters.
     I don’t allow myself to do simple
                                        mindless
                                        superfluous
                                        unproductive things.

I can’t just enjoy moments with someone
     without the conversation being constructive
               because that would be a waste of time.
                                    Right?

I can't relax
     for a moment
          and contemplate
          or just live in
                    a particular moment
                         if it doesn't have a specific purpose.

Or would I be figuring out a way to let go a bit
               and set myself aside
                    for even a few moments
                         where something significant might happen
                                 without my effort?

Shirt

Posted on March 28 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I used to think
     I was pretty good at reading people –
                         at least sometimes.

Now I’m not so sure.

Every uniqueness
         weirdness
         quirk
         idiosyncrasy
                  is so much bigger –
                       like I can’t put all the pieces together
                            to mean anything.

I miss big chunks –
     even simple things like
                                people’s clothes
                                           hair
                                           shoes.

I usually notice someone
     with red eyes
            head down
                       like they don’t want to talk.
                                  (I think.)

     It's more apparent to me –
                  something out of the ordinary
                                out of their normal behavior.

Should I let that person go?
        Or run after them awkwardly
                  and ask if things are okay?

                  (Because what else do I ask?)

          I’m not sure I even know them more than “hi”
               so what am I supposed to say?

Are the other things I completely missed
                            essential too?

Do clothes say something about a person
     even when that isn't intended
                               or wanted?

          Maybe.

They’re basic – things that everyone should notice.
           Obvious.

           Right?
           I should be paying attention.

Those are the conversations around me, at least.
     New fashion trends
            boots
            haircuts.

I probably can’t even say
     what color shirt that person was wearing.

          (Do I ever look at someone’s shoes?)

I can only say
     they appeared
          to be their normal self
                    or
          something was off.

                         Maybe.

I can’t always pinpoint the specifics –
     which makes me question if I noticed
                                 anything significant
                                      in the first place.

And even if I am able to spot meaningful things,
          how can I possibly keep up
               with everyone?

        How do I notice everything new
                                             different
                                             off
                                             important
                                                 with every
                                                         one?

Endure

Posted on March 24 2012 by J.W. Richmond

Shaded grey bricks
    damp
         with mold
                grime
                old dirt
     mixed with
          leftover pieces
                 of
                 dead
                 bugs.

Hollow drops
          break
      the silence
               between
               breaths
                    as they land
                         on the cold
                                 rock
                                 surface
                                        beneath
                                        my
                                        bare feet.

Each step
     makes a distinct

                    slap

          on the slightly
                   slimy stone –
                        not enough to slip on
                                  just almost,
                                  not quite,
                                    but nearly.

Nowhere to grasp.

Every grip
     is lost
          s
           l
            i
             d
              e
                  s
     and my knee
                hip
                elbow

                      slam

                            into the hard ground
                            as the high-pitched agony
                                                pushes
                                            its way out
                                                          without
                                                          my consent.

All available air
     exhaled
          as my face
               scrunches
               in a silent
                       scream

                     and I
                           punch
                           my fist
                                into a damp brick,
                                         blood
                                         slowly
                                         mixing
                                     with the grimy
                                              grey
                                              decay.

Ask

Posted on March 23 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I’m not good at asking for what I need
                                          or want.

I don’t want to intrude on other people’s time
                                                       energy
                                                       resources.

This is an issue that keeps surfacing in my life.
I keep getting little jabs
                           from books
                                  songs
                                  Jeff
                                  movies
                                  (The Holy Spirit?)
                                            that I don’t think I should ignore.

Lisa: So I was just wondering if there’s one general thing that you've found over the years to be generally true in a general way that would help anyone, with any situation?

Psychiatrist: That's a great question. Yes. I’d say, figure out what you want and learn how to ask for it.

Lisa: Okay… Those are both really hard.*

I just want to be able to figure out ways to do whatever it is I need so I don’t have to burden someone else.

“I immediately realized, however, that I didn’t want to be served. I didn’t want to be in a position where I had to ask for something and receive it as a gift.”**

I don’t expect others to suddenly read my mind and know what I need, but I also don’t want to appear lazy if I ask for something I could have figured out how to do myself.

“We’re lost ‘til we learn how to ask.”***

 I suck at this.

 

*How Do You Know, James L. Brooks, ©2010
**The Meaning of Marriage, Timothy Keller ©2011
***In the End, Snow Patrol, ©2012

Cobalt

Posted on March 17 2012 by J.W. Richmond

Forget rose.

I think the world looks better
          through cobalt.

                    Ocean-colored.
                    Cool.
                    Refreshing.
                    Reviving.

                    Vivid
                         but not blinding.

Greys are brighter
     greens even greener
               creating a
                         depth
                    of intricate calm
                         and mesmeric clarity.

A thin
   transparent glass
         that transforms
                   stifling
                   monotony
                         into tangible
                                     inspiration.

Recharge

Posted on March 16 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I am constantly the subject of a push-pull
                    between
          people and survival
                    between
          needing relationships
                    and needing to be alone.

People who stereotype a Dreamer*
     tend to think
          I could be alone for days
                                    months
                                    years
                                       and all would be well
                                       or maybe I would never even notice.
That’s not only unrealistic,
     it’s also not even remotely true.

People do tend to drain me – over time.
     Some people a lot more than others.

I need a regularly scheduled time-out.
I need time to be able to recharge.

If I get desperate and severely drained,
     I may do need
                        a lot
                           of time to recharge.

But when I do finally get that chance,
     and I am able to get there
          or even get close
               and approach a level that is more full
                                                       than suffocating,
     I don’t just want to be with other people.
     I need to be.

Hang-outs
       visits
       texts
       emails
       even phone calls
            become more frequent and lengthened.
Conversations get deeper
     because I have the capacity to engage.

I seek people out.

I talk Jeff’s head off
     right before bed.

And I drain much more slowly
     because I am energized just enough
          that I enjoy it
            and pursue more.

I have the hard conversations with friends
     and take the time to call my mom and dad
                         just because
           even when I have absolutely nothing to say.

But I don’t know how to stay in that place
                       how to balance that time
                                remain there
                                       before life pulls on me again.
     Even the thought of emailing a friend
          seems so daunting
                and overwhelming
                      because I really do have no energy left
                                                  and no time to recharge
                                                                       refresh.

And the recently vibrant colors
     slowly start to blur
                    back into greys.

 

*Your Unique Design: Originally Developed by Taibi Kahler; Adapted by Dr. Bob Maris and Dr. Jerry Richardson. Dreamer: imaginative, reflective, calm.

Dive

Posted on March 10 2012 by J.W. Richmond

It’s not that I won’t have that dreaded conversation…

I have it over
      and over again
                in my head.

I start
  listen
  respond
      and anticipate the expected response.
Then I start over
          say what I need to say
          anticipate an alternate response,
                   and change the wording
                                      or tone
                                      or adjust the content.
Repeat.
Repeat again.

Eventually I (usually) dive in for real
              and say it
                     even if it isn’t worded
                                      or refined well.

Usually by then,
           it is time
           (or past time)
                        to say it.

I get to the point
        where I have to just throw it out there
                    and hope.
                          Hope that I say it okay-ish.
                          Hope the friendship is strong enough
                                        to survive the conversation.
                          Hope I don’t come across as a moron.

I just want to say it right
               the first time.

I’ve had enough of these conversations
                          explode in my face
              that it makes me hesitant to have them
                          without thinking them through – enough.

And I know,
       I know,
       I tend to overthink things.

But I don’t want to screw things up even worse.
And whatever reaction I get,
      I want to be able to receive it well.

Tunnels

Posted on March 3 2012 by J.W. Richmond

The questions only lead me
          to more questions.

I crawl
     deeper
          into the cavern
                       wind my way through tunnels
                                                and chasms,
                                following trails
                                          that circle over
                                                       each
                                                    other.

Answers remain scarce
                       elusive
                       broken
                       blurry
                       empty.

Climbing on queries,
      slipping on
                  theories,
         pondering concepts,
                 I pry open the systems,
                             throwing
                                          pieces
                                                        aside.

Scraping my knees
     on sharp rocks
         and dead ends,
                       I head further in.
The cold walls hide clues
                               and bury them
                                         in the dark corners.

I chase the shadows
       as I trip
                over
                    suspicions,
    smack my head on a stalactite
                           and
                           fall
                               into another question.

Cover

Posted on March 2 2012 by J.W. Richmond

I know.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

I’ve heard it.
I believe it.

But do I do it anyway?

She was just another girl in the dorms, friends with my friends.
We knew each other peripherally,
                    but we weren’t really friends.

A year later, I was living in another apartment complex, and she moved in next to me. Mutual friends lived downstairs so we ended up interacting. A lot.

Somehow we started to become actual friends.

We couldn’t have been more different.

Different values
            priorities
            views
            looks
            clothes
            lives
            everything.

We got to know each other
                                     beyond
                                            all the initial reactions
                                                        and responses.

That apartment complex was short-lived since I ended up moving away to go to school. I had no idea she had already applied to go to that same school, and a few months later, she moved there too.

In another strange twist of weird reality, we ended up as roommates. And we didn’t hate each other!

Through graduations
           moron guys
           broken relationships
           questions about life
           relocations
           long distances
           job changes
           eventually marrying great guys           
           kids
           surgeries
           everyday life
           tragedies…
                we have been there for each other.

She has remained my friend
    and has gained the right – and privilege
          to call me out when I am an idiot.

I don’t usually think of myself as judgmental,
                    but maybe I can be.
Maybe I disregarded her as a friend
                    too early on.

Fifteen years after we originally passed by each other in those halls, she and I are still friends – the kind of friends who catch up in an instant, like no time ever passed in the first place.

I would have never pegged us as being friends in the first place, much less lifelong friends.

She was unexpected.

And I’m so grateful we both took the chance
                        to get to know each other
                                                despite ourselves.

Doll

Posted on February 24 2012 by J.W. Richmond

My sister used to dress me up
                                like a doll.

Big fancy dresses,
      tons of make-up,
      and extravagant props,
           using backdrops specifically for the photos,
                                 of course.

I thought dolls were boring.

How do you build something with a doll?
     Or make a doll move
           with gears
           and pieces that fit together
                    so you could make them do something
                                        interesting?
Even a blank piece of paper had more potential than a doll.

And the way my sister pulled my hair –
                    trying to curl it
            putting it up in some fancy-schmancy way – hurt.
                                              A lot.
      It was always too big,
            and the hairspray stunk.

Not to mention it was a      l       o       n       g     time to sit still.

                                    Complete torture.

And I hated dresses.

Ech.

When I was older, she wouldn’t even let me leave the house until she approved of my outfit.

If When I came out of my room wearing something she didn’t approve of, she would actually make me go back to my room and change, which drove me crazy.

Whatever sort of style I had was probably due to Punky Brewster* not any fashion trend you would find in a magazine. No color-coordinated outfits, heels, fluffy dresses, little skirts, blouses… (Blouses? Really?)

And that drove her crazy.

My sister wanted me to have style and
             believed I had to match.
                         I couldn’t clash;
                         I had to be presentable.

I played along for a while because I cared about her –
                                     and it was important to her.
She loved me and
      took the time to try to help (my helpless self).

Eventually I had to learn how to gracefully say no
                   (I said learn),
            and figure out how to be me – whoever that is.

I didn’t – don’t – do outfits.
I still hate dresses.

If I could, I would wear shorts and a t-shirt every day. Shoes if necessary, I guess. Done.

I could never be that doll.

I’m sure there are a lot of pictures of me in those photo shoots where I was upset or crying that never made it into the family albums, but I guess I have to admit some of those pictures are memorable – even if they aren’t really me.

If nothing else, I guess they deserve a good laugh.

​

 

* Punky Brewster ©1984-1988