I am remembering, because I have forgotten.

Thoughts in transit, recently.

LOS ANGELES CITY (THE BEFORE)

I’ve had a hard time writing for myself recently. Most of my writing has been for my work, my purpose, my dreams. Yes, arguably, this is a part of “writing for myself,” and yet, I have felt stuck when I sit facing you, wondering, what do I say, how do I say it, how do I let you know all that I have been carrying.. No, why should I? I have so many responsibilities, I should do those first, and face you later. Deep within me, the purest act of writing/channeling resembles addressing you directly, and when I am without my dearest audience, then who is recording my unraveling?

I write this now on the west coast, I’m here for a short break with a girlfriend. I’m waiting for her to arrive— we took two separate flights, and this intermittent time has provided me with a much needed silent retreat into my own heart. There is so much hidden (or forgotten) within me. I recently came across Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s interpretation of memory as a process of recovery, rather than recall, “When I hear the word ‘memory’, I ask myself what was forgotten.” I saw this on a punchy instagram post, and it led me to discovering Dichtung und Wahrheit.

With each day, it becomes clearer to me that this cycle of forgetting and remembering is an inescapable and essential fixture of becoming. One that defines the speed at which one may get propelled forward, the harder that they go back. I have repeated this cycle so many times now, that I am beginning to tire of its motion. Thus, I am trying to choose differently. Less wastefulness, less lack, more intentionality. But healing work while restorative, is also gravely tiring. Only yesterday, I wailed into my partner’s chest, unable to explain what I was feeling, but the tears wouldn’t stop. He whispered decisively, “you have to take a break, you cannot go on like this.”

Here I am, on my break, feeling detached and pensive. Curious and explorative. Yet, still without answers.

I have some important questions,

Will all of this work pay off?

Will I get what I want?

What if it’s all for nothing?

What if I fail?

These questions haunt me each day, and yet, I persist. I keep going. Ignoring the fear. Forgetting. Forgetting. Moving on. Until, I am forced to stop and it all comes back.

I hear knocks on the hotel door, my girlfriend has arrived. I breathe and prepare myself for another journey.

JOSHUA TREE (THE AFTER)

Under a million stars, surrounded by acres of natural desert, cacti, shrubs and thorns, I was re-introduced to myself. Awake again, my eyes widened and my skin tingled from all the nature surrounding me. I began to remember slowly, what it meant to be free, and what I could do with that freedom. My appetite for risk stirred, but I stayed shrewd, almost anxious. Somehow my body knew how to adjust to it, this new roughness and its unpredictability. The wild unknown beckoned to me and I itched to move towards her, yet still holding back. My girlfriend was more ecstatic than I was, running towards the outlands. I turned inside myself with a question, what am I so afraid of?

When you’ve been hurt plenty, you become wary of your free spirit. You become heedful of your own impulses. You begin to control them. Sometimes, you do it to a fault. My trip to Joshua Tree was about recall and renewal. Remembering how to trust the unknown, allowing myself to believe that I wouldn’t get hurt or abandoned in the wild, letting myself BREATHE, feeling the moon and the stars bathe me with their light, and taking it all in without the fear that it would be snatched away from me.

We were caught in the middle of nowhere in the national park-desert, no phone signals, no maps, just our intuition and a choice: to listen within or lose all sense of direction. We followed our guts, somehow finding the correct trails, even when the sun dispersed and there was nothing left but the faint trace of our cellular flashlights to guide the way. Soon, we arrived exactly where we needed to, a rocky desert clearing with a gorgeous view of the moon. We both drew quick breaths, awestruck and speechless. She pointed it out first, “The stars around it, the stars! Look at the stars!”

I’m so glad that I hadn’t turned back when it got dark, I thought to myself, I’m so glad that I didn’t miss this view. Nothing else was important in that moment, but the loud answer beating within my chest, ritualistically and in divine remembrance, there is nothing else to become, I already am.

I’m so grateful to be alive.

Images by yours truly.

AB