Austin is fine, for the most part, though I have difficulty connecting to people. As I noted the last time I lived here, I know a lot of people, though I'm not sure if I could call any of them friends. Most of them, as far as I know, are excellent people who would help in any way they were able, at the drop of a hat. But I don't reach out to them, and they don't reach out to me. I am someone they will eventually forget. You can tell sometimes, even if you'd rather not acknowledge it. Lately, I've been trying to put my finger on where this notion is coming from. This hum in the field. It could be that in general I have difficulty connecting to people, but I don't think that is necessarily true, I just have unorthodox standards. Kindness is a necessity, sure. As well as common ground. But, this morning, driving to work, I noticed it.
When I lived briefly in Florida, I had heard someone say "there's a difference between people who shovel snow, and people who don't." That is true. People in endless summer, people without eight months of grief a year, cannot appreciate the sun as those with it. But it goes further.
Looking at who I am closest to. The few people I genuinely connect with. The people I feel in my heart, I will forever be connected to, there is almost always one point of reference that we share.
That we have done evil, and we have overcome it.
A few years ago, in the storm, I began writing a book under the working title "Terrible." The plan was an admission of everything I had done (to that point) that I knew in my heart to be evil. It was a long list and led to a long month of shame and reflection. Obviously I did not finish the book, though it did force me to begin seeing my life in a way that was not easy, or comfortable, and ultimately, it led me to who I am now, and will be in the future.
Without naming people or sins, when I look at most of the people I am closest to, that attribute sits in them as well. And when I look at the people around me now, I do not see that. And I feel that when the people around me now look at me, there is something they cannot name, or see for what it is. Most of them know the narrated version of my past, mostly in broad strokes, and I do not hide from it.
A beautiful thing to know people without it, but alienating to me. I do not wish it upon the people around me, or anyone, but trauma bonds. I suppose this is the point of support groups.
Someone who understands.
