I wanna be the place you call home…
Sometimes the things that happen in your life, the transitions you go through provide you with some perspective. I’ve noticed that I’m admiring sunsets and the ocean a little more than I used to. Smiling at strangers a little more than I used to. And I feel like it’s that perspective that allows you to appreciate the little victories, the smaller gestures. I feel like as I get a little older I’ve begun to have a really fine tuned appreciation for the little things. The calls just to say I love you or let you know I was thinking about you. Life’s in the details. Life’s in the fine print.
I was reading through some of my old journals last night.. my old blog, I guess I should say. And it’s so weird to read those things because as I read them I’m reminded of very specific instances in my life. I can almost take myself back to where I was when I was writing it. I can think about who I was dating at the time or what I was listening to or the headspace I was in when I wrote it, which I suppose is interesting because I try to make a point not to mention people by name in here. With the exception of a couple of people (Zac and Brendan come to mind but I’m sure there’s others.) I try not to get too specific about what’s going on in my life and who’s going on in my life. I feel like the specifics of it really aren’t that important to someone reading it. It’s the largest context that I think makes anything I might write appplicable to someone else. But one insight I gained from reading my old blog and also from reading some moleskine journals that I unearthed from the mountain range of cardboard boxes in my apartment is that pain is a pretty fleeting thing. By and large what seems like a big deal now, the things keeping you up at night will be passing thoughts in time. That being said, I think I’m as guilty as anyone of overanalyzing and overthinking what’s going on in my life. I guess it’s just kind of comforting to know that eventually you get to a place where the things causing you pain become somewhat muted or the volume lowered significantly.
The subject of this entry is from a song off the new Keane album (which I’m happy to say is a pretty solid record) and it’s probably one of the most heartbreakingly pretty songs I’ve heard in a long time. And that idea “I wanna be the place you call home” is something that I’ve struggled with my entire .. romantic? .. life. I don’t know why but I’ve never been afraid of committment. I’ve never pushed somebody away because I felt myself getting weaker for them. I’ve never been afraid of getting hurt. Sometimes I wish I had. Sometimes I wish I had the ability to build a wall.. shield myself… put my guard up. I just have never had that capacity. I think my heart’s wall builders are union.. lazy fucks.
There’s something about having a home life with somebody that has always appealed to me. I’m well aware that this particular entry and what I’m about to write is basically suicide but it’s ok. There’s something about having someone to come home to after a day when you feel like maybe you made a mistake going into newspapers. Like maybe you’re not cracked up for whatever it is that you thought would be your life’s work. I’ve always thought fondly on the idea of laying your head on someone’s lap as you loosen your tie and feeling their fingers through your hair as you tell them that if this keeps up you’re joining a monastery. I’m not sure that there’s a more comforting feeling then knowing that when you get home you can curl up on the couch with someone and watch Scrubs. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me that makes me think that would be a fuckin’ blast but I do. I think it’d be the coolest thing to call someone and say “I’ll see you when I get home” and know the person on the other end of the food is just as excited about it as you are. Man… the more I think about it.. well here I’ll tell you what I see in my head when I think about that. (This is from a male perspective, so when I say “someone” I mean a girl.. not that there’s anything wrong with wanting to curl up with and/or spoon a dude. Not my particular pasttime but do you playa.. do you)
Stream of thought #1: Laying in bed with someone, feeling her head on your chest, her arms wrapped around your waist. You’ve got a magazine, the cover folded around the back, holding it with one hand. The room dimmly lit by the light on the bedside stand. Your other hand gently tracing circles, trapezoids, rhombi, and other geometrical shapes for which there aren’t names on her back to help her fall asleep. Hoping she’s asleep as you set the gently set the magazine down and reach for the remote to turn the channel from a ‘Sex and the City’ re-run she’s seen twice to Sportscenter. As you pick up the remote, on queue… “I’m watching that.”
Stream of thought #2: It’s the NFC Championship. The fucking Eagles have just lost… again. (This isn’t a historical reference.. it’s bound to happen again sometime in the future). You’ve got your Eagles jersey on.. the one that has your name on the back. She’s worn green in support. You love her for that. You’re both sitting on the couch watching the Carolina Panthers celebrate their trip to the Super Bowl (again not a reference to any point in history, but it’ll happen again). “They don’t even fucking care about football in North Carolina!”. She just sits there not quite sure what to say. You feel a little like crying as the Eagles sulk off the field but don’t want to completely immasculate yourself, especially after the littany of profanities and obscenities her ears, and indirectly her soul, have been exposed to for the past three hours. “The fuckin’ Eagles” you just keep saying to yourself, glancing up at the Donovan McNabb action figure atop the television. You have just enough self-restraint not to yell at the plastic action figure. “If it’s any consolation… I still love you” she says…. You don’t have the heart to tell her that you feel like sticking your head in the oven.. so you say “It does… thanks”. There’s always next year.
Song that was playing when I finished this :
Keane “Try Again”
Under the Iron Sea