Think, then, on what it means to fly

I just had a great meditating session. I don't meditate, but...well, ever. Last time I recall doing it was a year and a half ago, at Starry Starry Night 2010, when I laid on the floor and practiced flying.

I've been meaning to return to that practice, thinking that I one day might truly learn to fly. So, for a few brief moments this morning, I gave it another shot. I closed all of my doors and windows so as to nearly drown out all sound. I cleared a spot on the floor and took off all my clothes and laid down, such that there were nearly no external stimuli. I made sure that my body was in as little contact with itself as possible--thighs apart, arms out with palms up, my torso flat on my back.

And then I practiced flying. It was a bit rough at first, as I was locked in the room, and wanted to fly out of the house. But I learned how to fly through the wall, down the hall and out the front door. I had to go back a couple of times, as a twitch or a wrong movement would require that my practice start over. I wasn't sure where, exactly, I would want to go, merely that I be free.

To my surprise, I began visiting Gregs of Past Despair. I visited scenes I thought I had forgotten. I found Greg at the alcove at Golden West, flew in and grabbed his hand and taught him to fly. I found Greg at Solano, sitting in the cafeteria writing of "Algo bueno me espera," and "Esta vida que no puedo vivir." He, too, flew with me, as did the Greg at Vanden, sitting alone next to the trash can. Greg in the dorms at SF State, lonely and fresh off his break up joined in. Greg in many stages of Michael, including at the first cheating revelation, sitting high outside of Universe wishing he were dead, and at the time of the break-up eagerly joined in, taking but a few of the many good opportunities to leave Michael early. I saw scenes of Greg alone at Citrus Heights, Greg who found solace in TV, Greg who realized--at varying stages--that he was different and didn't have anyone for himself. They all grabbed my hand and flew along with me. I even grabbed Greg of this summer, left to make his own birthday cake, left to spend nearly every minute alone. Greg, in all of those miserable moments at Vanden and on the bus, despairing over el que no me merece, joined the fun, too, and we smiled as we agreed that "he love me not." A later Greg was able to show those Vanden Gregs el que no me merece on the bus a few years later, and how silly times had taken hold. I found Greg in San Francisco, returned for his first visit to Michael since the breakup, sobbing in the car, not knowing what to do.

I found Gregs at different points in City Year, the Greg who had to hid himself after the first ATA as he sobbed and sobbed at Liz's birthday party. The Greg who just could not figure out why nothing was going right in his second year. The Gregs who had to cry in service.

I forgot a few Gregs along the way. Of course, there were still many more Gregs at the stages of Michael. Greg needed to be rescued from every moment of that Pride, as he sought to fit in, realized he couldn't, and just wanted to hide. I even forgot Greg shortly before he turned 25, visiting Sam in San Francisco, when he faced this moment again and just wished he could become invisible. There are more, I am sure, and I promise now that I shall rescue them some day, and teach them to fly as the rest of us are flying, even if it is 18 months hence.

I had thought I had dealt with all of those Gregs. I thought they were gone, but the truth is, every time I return to these moments of despair, of aloneness, I remember all of those Gregs. I remember that it is a pattern, that it is a syndrome that I might find relief from, but that I always fall back on. I have always been alone. I have always faced despair. I will always return to it.

But the new pattern is flight. All of those Gregs will learn to fly. In the face of despair, they fly. It is the single thing they have always wanted most to do. And now I know that when I face despair, when I am alone, I shall learn to fly, even if that flight comes a dozen years later.

Thing, then, on what it means to fly.

Everything but me

Maybe it's the flu that's turned me into a virtual shut-in this week. Maybe it's my feeling so week and exhausted from the flu. Maybe it's because I haven't been able to exercise very much in the last two weeks. Maybe it's my brain drumming up feelings to focus on them, rather than work on homework. Either way, I feel awful, and it's not just physical.

I hate my job. I hate how my social life doesn't exist. And slowly, I'm starting to hate my graduate program. With all that, the only thing I have going for me is me. Which is to say, my long-term happiness continues to be stellar, but my short-term happiness is non-existent. There is nothing in the short-term that I look forward to. Classes are, for the most part, awful, and even in classes in which I can express my intellect, I don't feel like I'm doing anything, but instead merely practicing. I've gotten so used to creating things, to implementing things, that I had forgotten that in school, you're merely trying things and imagining things that, far more often than not, will never leave the classroom.

I feel undervalued, misunderstood, ignored, forgotten. I don't understand how I can be so miserable when I love me so much. I don't understand how I can have so much despair in my life when I am so proud of who I am. How can I be this despondent? I'm me! I love me! It just doesn't make any sense. I can't seem to make sense of life, except for temporary bright spots every couple of years.