Heart | existabovethenoise

Recent experiences with relationships that some people might call friendships have left me in disequilibrium as of late. I’ve pondered the existential questions that posit that we really are the company we keep. I’ve been asked about the qualitative difference between a relationship with a friend and that with a family member. Tentative conclusions? When family members become foes they may remain family, but they are definitely not friends. When friends become friends with benefits, they effectively excommunicate themselves from the family. Most foes have experienced the pleasure and privilege of friendship at some point. When people say ‘I want this friendship to grow,’ it is, in fact, code for ‘I’d like to feel on your booty now.’ (And you all wonder what I’m doing on the weekends that I don’t post… I’m living this material.)

My last two weeks have been met with nausea, headaches, tears, and over-indulgence in foods with high cocoa content, because the level of neurotic energy it takes to psychoanalyze all of my relationships makes me want to vomit, curl up in a ball, sit in a bath of epsom salt, read self help books, listen to whale music, lick my wounds and chant ‘Nam–myoho–renge–kyo,’ while “breaking dishes up in here…dishes…dishes…dishes.”

Really, I’ve been a basket case with trying to define relationships that have never served my interests. I’ve wracked my brain about why I gave up relationships with family members, and tried to replace that vacuum with friendships that were likely as fickle as the original relationship. I wonder how it is that people I’ve only hung out with while in the presence of this girl’s best friend, Sapphire, and my sexy Latin lover Patron, think that we are actually genuine, real, in this universe, friends. I’ve taken inventory of why it is that people seem to define friendship through trauma, and family as a bottomless pit of forgiveness.

I have no conclusions, just a lot of indigestion and a lot on my mind. Friendships, like all relationships, are malleable. They are reflections of the human condition – fallible and adaptive. But let’s face it, some friendships are situations of entertainment convenience that have just dragged on way too long. Others are born of a false sense of shared identity. If you have ever had your ass whooped before, during or after calling the whoop-er ‘big brother’ or ‘big sister,’ you and I need to brainstorm together how we can both mature in our friendships. Read: Something ain’t right.

I won’t bemoan the issue. I’m still exploring my ideas about the intersection between friendship, family and romantic relationships. In my exploration, though, I’ve realized how many people don’t step back and take a good solid look at with whom God has chosen to surround them (family) and with whom they’ve chosen to surround themselves (friends). To walk through life taking for granted the steps that we take in choosing the latter, and not exploring how substantive and/or superficial all those relationships might be, is – for me – to resolve to indefinitely misuse the word ‘friend.’

What I’ve found to be most astounding, though, is that while most of us haven’t put the time it takes to do the patented festival flamenco snap into our friendships, we are capable of prolonged introspection regarding romantic relationships. Think about this: X keeps telling Y they’re going to kick Z to the curb, but X keeps sneaking around because Z makes X feel like they’re floating on air. Is X even being a good friend to Y if there are lies involved? How can Y be a good partner to X if the communication isn’t there?

Ok. So, try this one: A tells B that B is the most important person in their life. B doesn’t feel the same, but feels like they can’t say anything because it would be too callus and A thinks a lot of B. So, B keeps taking A’s calls, even when B doesn’t have anything to say. A realizes a year later that the only time B initiated a phone call to A was a butt dial before Biggie died. A feels wronged by a lack of reciprocity, but B feels pretty good about sparing A’s feelings. I hear Maury BOOOOOOOOs from the crowd. This isn’t scripted though.

Let’s make this personal. Say, you are X, your best friend Y and any drug of choice Z. Would you stick it out? What if Y were your sibling? And… what if you are A and your parent is B. Is this healthy? Do you walk away? Is it ok to tolerate behavior from your significant other that you wouldn’t tolerate from your best friend? Do you forgive your siblings for things that you would end a friendship over in half a heart beat? By you, I mean YOU. Yes, YOU! These are not rhetorical questions. I want real answers. Don’t worry, I have time. I’ll wait…

Pack out preparations are underway. My condo was shown to two sets of potential renters this weekend. Strategies to sell a car on the quick have been fast ablaze in my head. Undoing what has taken a year and a half and two apartments to build is no easy task – mentally, physically or emotionally. It’s all in the things we carry. And I’m always preparing to, transitioning towards, thinking about, leaving it all behind. No wonder there are so many things that I have yet to see or do in the nation’s capital. I have been preparing to leave since I got here.

A friend who had previously lived here came back to town this weekend and we hit some of the regular haunts: Dupont Circle, Georgetown, U Street. You know, where 20 somethings go when they haven’t really the slightest intention of getting to know the ‘real’ DC. Thrilled with the Potomac, not interested in the Anacostia. Speaking of which, we spent an unseasonably brisk hour on a boat tour in the Potomac. Aside from the unabashedly cynical and liberal tour guide’s jibes at the world, I came away thinking of all the things I hadn’t yet seen in DC. I haven’t gone to the top of the Washington Monument. I’ve never been inside the Kennedy Center. I never made it to Roosevelt Island. Mind you, I’m only talking about the desirable sections of town. There’s always so much to see and so much to do, even in the places in which we don’t want to be. Being in a constant state of transition makes it easy to explain why I haven’t yet set foot on every inch of tourist ground. Nevertheless, there is always the lingering feeling of having missed out on something special.

Parting is always such sweet sorrow, because it reminds me that special is relative. The lessons learned from life in DC have been special. The friends? Special. The firsts? Special. Navigating the circles? Special. But, this experience of living and leaving is, for me, not that special at all. Digging in deep to enjoy the bits and spaces that are accessible in the time frame available is quite familiar to me. So, it’s also special to know that there is, in fact, a whole block in Takoma Park where consecutive lawns host magical fairy, wildlife animals. Macs Tire Repair in NE is, in fact, open 24 hours. And Teddy’s Roti does make phlourie and saltfish roti – even on Sunday.

The valuable bits of local knowledge that get residents to and fro often overshadow the pressing need to see what the tourists see. Yet, the local bits can be undervalued, as props on a main stage set to the backdrop of a nation’s imagination of itself. The view doesn’t include the homeless veterans, addicts and families that live on DC’s streets. It doesn’t begin to taste the lead in the pipes or help navigate a left turn off New York Avenue. On the other hand, over taxed taxpayers without tourists does not a nation’s capital make.

So, what can you do? Whether tourist or townie, I would be hard pressed to deny that sometimes it really is just flat out gorgeous to head towards Union Station and see the Capitol building aglow. It is in such moments that I’m reminded that I’m precisely where I need to be, and it doesn’t really matter the cause for my being present or how long I plan to be here.

Two years would be considered a long tourist stay, but definitely not long enough to be adopted as a native. Although, more time wouldn’t mean that I would undoubtedly add a doubledecker bus tour to the daily planner. Sometimes it’s not about having more time. Because, with more time, it’s not necessarily true that I’d do all the things I didn’t care to do in the time I previously had. Perhaps it is precisely because time has been so limited that, thus far, I have even seen as much as I have.

It is true to say that my impressions of DC are born of few lived memories rather than a plethora of tried, tested and reviewed experiences. Both are valuable, though, neither more ‘true’ than the other. For me, authenticity is moot when the intention is to maximize the positive. Whatever it takes to get from point A to point B has it’s place in the life span of a longer than normal transition and a shorter than normal residency. It is not the best of both worlds. It is not a time to sow oats while waiting for real life to begin. It is both the process and the path of living life in my peep toe pumps: always the bag lady, dancing in a sundress and a scarf, at a crossroads between one enchanting rock face of the earth and another, chanting “Ora ye yeo, Oxum!”