"After The Movie" by Marie Howe

My friend Michael and I are walking home arguing about the movie.
He says that be believes a person can love someone
and still be able to murder that person.
I say, No, that's not love. That's attachment.
Michael says, No, that's love. You can love someone, then come to a day

when you're forced to think "it's him or me"
think "me" and kill him.

I say, Then it's not love anymore.
Michael says, It was love up to then though.

I say, Maybe we mean different things by the same word.
Michael says, Humans are complicated: love can exist even in the
murderous heart.

I say that what he might mean by love is desire.
Love is not a feeling, I say. And Michael says, Then what is it?

We're walking along West 16th Street - a clear unclouded night - and I hear my voice
repeating what I used to say to my husband: Love is action, I used to say
to him.

Simone Weil says that when you really love you are able to look at
someone you want to eat and not eat them.

Janis Joplin says, take another little piece of my heart now baby.

Meister Eckhardt says that as long as we love images we are doomed to
live in purgatory.

Michael and I stand on the corner of 6th Avenue saying goodnight.
I can't drink enough of the tangerine spritzer I've just bought -

again and again I bring the cold can to my mouth and suck the stuff
from the hole the flip top made.

What are you doing tomorrow? Michael says.
But what I think he's saying is "You are too strict. You are
a nun."

Then I think, Do I love Michael enough to allow him to think these things
of me even if he's not thinking them?

Above Manhattan, the moon wanes, and the sky turns clearer and colder.
Although the days, after the solstice, have started to lengthen,

we both know the winter has only begun
.

How to get unstuck

“When you feel perpetually unmotivated, you start questioning your existence in an unhealthy way; everything becomes a pseudo intellectual question you have no interest in responding (to) whatsoever. This whole process becomes your very skin and it does not merely affect you; it actually defines you. So, you see yourself as a shadowy figure unworthy of developing interest, unworthy of wondering about the world - profoundly unworthy in every sense and deeply absent in your very presence.”

- Ingmar Bergman

This is what happens after college sometimes.

After college, you're a bit like a city kid getting airlifted into the Adirondacks. Most of the knowledge you've spent years acquiring is useless now, because you are no longer rewarded for following rules. Are there even any rules in the woods? There are, but they're different rules. You don't know how to read the signals that surround you. Are there edible berries? Roots? What does that even mean, "roots"? Tree roots? What's that rustling sound in the bushes?

If you don't have any clues at all for how to create a meaningful post-college adult life, no wonder. You've never had to build a life from scratch. Perhaps nobody ever made you prioritize "derive sense of joy from personal discipline and independence", "consciously eradicate all self-pity", "set measurable goals", "take responsibility for all aspects of your well-being", etc, in your life. It would be unusual if someone did. You've been a part of families, or universities, with rules and meals and goals and a concrete ranking system. You've been praised.

What parents and teachers don't understand, I think, is that "unmotivation" isn't laziness. It's a disconnect between your soul's desire and what you think is possible. If the things you dream of, deeply desire, don't even seem possible in the world - because you're disillusioned with the only ideals you know of, whether they're theater, nonprofits, the publishing industry - and you can't even articulate the seat of this unrest - then it can seem "adult" to start ignoring the impulse to find something better. This is a mistake.

I think many people I know have made this long-term emotional mistake. It's not a dramatic mistake, but a quiet one. The shining, burning part of you is buried. The most tragic thing is, it's a simple misunderstanding of how awesome things can be. It's the daily miscalculation of what is possible around you - or what you need - or what makes you happy. It's waking up every morning, feeling miserable, and thinking, "Oh well. Guess that's what life is like." And then... doing that for months. This is how people become bitter.

Inevitably (I hope), one day, something surprises you. You find a group of people, a profession, an art form that you didn't know existed. And whatever-it-is is exciting and fulfilling and interesting in a new way, like nothing else. And you realize you've been doing the math wrong all along. The world has more things like this. You need to find them. You need to start finding them right now! They're all around you! Other ones that you haven't even found yet! Time is short!

And luckily, all that time you've wasted comes in handy, because you've developed a razor-sharp sixth sense of what you will never settle for again.

It's possible to train yourself to pick up the scent of adventure, like a bloodhound. You'll start to trust the feeling of catharsis, of activity that takes you out of yourself. The river of passion that you'd forgotten about will surge up, from where it was buried underground, silent and invisible. Small failures are funny and okay because they teach you things. Life is not abstract; life is real and messy and forgivable and lovable.

There are small magical pockets of people: burners and blues dancers, coders and hackers, freelance classical musicians, crafting circles, choirs, contact improvisers, clowns. And other ones I haven't found yet, and look forward to finding.