four conversrations

people seldom do what they believe in
they do what is convenient
then repent.

-bob dylan

i smoke a cigarette thinking about those words; this is my last night in minnesota for some time. all my worldly possessions have been packed and are neatly stacked. most of the boxes contain books, some hold the ridiculous amount of cd's i've picked up, the rest is kitchen equipment. it's all piled expecting the moving truck i will pick-up, then load tomorrow.

these past couple of weeks have been difficult. it's the physical reality of what i have felt over the last two years with one foot in chicago and one foot in st. paul. it's been a realizations of waking up in a familiar room yet still trying to figure out what city i'm in. it's been defining relationships with friends, being honest with emotions and then building or re-building on it all.

it would be easier to stay in st. paul, and accept my failures and shortcomings. but scared or not, i am moving. the reasons for this might be explained in four conversations from four completely different women, all of whom have had remarkable effects upon my life; all of whom i still consider incredible friends: a, j, m. and b.

i receive a text from a. a week and a half ago. it's simple but states she's thankful we've always stayed friends. she cites examples of everybody else she has lived with, and how they've always abandoned her after they've lived together. my immediate, minnesotan knee-jerk reaction is to automatically feel guilty at this statement. a. and i don't talk that often, and when the two of us lived together, back in college, things were strained so much that there were nights she didn't want to be in the same room as me. back then, i didn't tell her i liked her, she didn't call me on it and we slowly dwindled to the married couple that stays together for the kids, or at least our apartment. but, we're both morons and the friendship endured.

j. and i haven't talked in a year. this is the opposite of a. where the relationship died, and we respected its death. she's a white sox fan, so obviously nothing could have ever come out of our relationship--a fact i stated at the onset of it. a year later she says that she appreciated my honesty that it helped her figure out her own life. i'm not in a position to doubt her or even call her on it. we resumed talking over the show lost; she was always a lost buddy. now she's doing well, dating a nice man that takes care of her and sees to her needs. even if something dies a newness might come out of it. relationships always needs to be defined, but it helps to have good footing to define them on.

while packing, i find a bunch of letters from m. these are from eight some years ago. i still don't know what to make of them. these are vague letters, or ones looking for strength. they're difficult to read. i stash them all in a wooden box, not sure if i should bury it or bring it. i pack it, reluctantly in a box to deal with later.

the conversation with b. is easy. we don't need to talk cos our friendship slips like a hand into a comfortable glove. we drive up from chicago with the radio turned to eleven stopping at the wine shop and sip on sampler wines.

i was afraid of moving back to chicago based on who i am, or was, and my motivations for moving back. i still don't know if this is the right decision, but it's what i believe in. this isn't a convenient choice, and i readily admit it might not be healthy. i am not repenting for past sins or seeking forgiveness for what i've done. in four conversations all i can do is accept what i've done, where i've come from and who i want to be.

when i was young i needed, but needs aren't necessities: they are things i needed for myself. now i'm older, and now i want. wants are desires i am incapable of reaching by myself, and in some way or form i need to ask others to help me.

i dropped b. off last week and drove north to pack. i listen to Green Gloves by The National for the first two hours of it before stopping at a gas station for cigarettes and to write this down:

slowly i unfold myself.
i might be in over my head,
or this is oxygen i'm finally tasting.
beginnings never really start,
ends never truly finish.
things just happen.
this is a come back story...

i believe it and have people that believe in themselves with me. this might hurt before it makes sense. but what's the point of life and love without...