That's not a typo, although I'm sure there are others in here, so just keep reading along. ;)
Sometimes you pour your heart into something. Sometimes that something is actually a someone.
I’ve been a hopeless romantic my entire life, but when I embarked on creating a blog about fashion I was punched in the stomach with my first heartbreak. I found that the initial things I wanted to speak about felt vapid and superficial, and I couldn’t write about anything other than how I was feeling. I had experienced sadness, loneliness, and confusion before, but the ways in which I was feeling these feelings was different than anything I had known. So I wrote about it. It was my way of working through all of those emotions and feelings, and not only making sense of them, but finding the beauty in them.
I often credit my vulnerability during my first real break up as part of my success initially because it was the first subject I publicly blogged about. I spoke honestly and authentically about a shitty part of life that 99% of us will experience, and I often found a new perspective of hope on the other side of those words.
And I really needed that hope then.
For me writing is cathartic, therapeutic, and helps me to make sense of the things I can’t make sense of otherwise. However, it’s been a while since I shared my heart in this way publicly because while it is cathartic for me, for those that shared those experiences, it has been a difficult thing to read even when the beauty, respect, and honor is found in my writings.
As I go through another battle of heartbreak and breakup, I struggle with wanting to express myself, my feelings, my love and loss. I struggle because in doing so in the past, I've ostracized myself from not only them, but their friends, people who used to be my friends, and social circles.
It has never been my intention to hurt anyone through my writing. My only intention in life is truly to spread love, and that is why when I pour my heart into these particular someones, and we both find ourselves standing solo again, it hurts. It hurts to think that you’re doing this to yourself, but even more so that you’re doing it to them as well.
However hurt only comes when we let our egos speak for our hearts. Hurt is confusion without definition and sense.
You’d think after years and multiple experiences with breakups, we’d be better at them. To be honest, I am. I’ve gotten better at feeling the cut, but not letting it go as deep. I’ve gotten better at seeing the bright side, but understanding there will be days that just suck, and that is ok. I’ve gotten better at allowing myself to feel lonely, confused, and sad, but not drowning in those emotions.
Even as I sit here writing this at 2:20 am, I feel myself remaining calmer than I ever have at this 2 month marker. I think largely it’s because I’m choosing to focus on myself, my loved ones, and the fact that I will always have love for my past loves. I also think that what feels different about this breakup is that I’m older, wiser, but also honest that I’m still figuring out what it is that I want for myself professionally and personally. I’m being honest that I don’t know where I want to live, what I want to do, and how I want to be, but I am ok with that because as we all learn, life is forever evolving to force us to think about these questions.
So while this may feel like a story of heartache or a breakup, what it actually is, is a reminder to myself, and I hope all of you, that we’re never going to have all the answers. However, what we can know, is that if this is the decision we are making right now, in this moment, than it has to be the right one because it is the one we are making. And accepting is allowing ourselves to acknowledge that while we may not understand everything, we know things are right, simply because they exist in this way.
In 2013, right when I moved back to NYC after my three years in LA, I went on a date with someone I had lusted after via social media for a while. They turned out to be a really nice human, but it was clear we weren’t vibing in a romantic or sexual way. As our date ended they sat across the table from me and said, “never let New York City make you jaded, and never stop being a hopeless romantic.” I think they felt compelled to say this to me because they were older, and had in many ways felt as if they lost their own hopeless romantic to jadedness.
Recently I’ve had moments where I’ve felt as if I had in fact become what that beautiful create had warned me of, jaded. However that conversation keeps playing out in my head, and I know it is not by coincidence.
Ultimately the poetic justice of becoming jaded is that jade, as a stone, stands for balance, purity, and purification. Thus, being jaded and accepting this, we are given the perfect opportunity to rebirth something lost inside of ourselves. Manipulating language has become one of my favorite ways to find freshness in life, and in this scenario, deconstructing jaded to jade, which is it’s true essence, we are able to purify our thoughts back to vibrational frequencies of love and innocence to find that that hopeless romantic never left us at all.
