i wrote about a recent experience in my last “lovers” post which was a homage to the inevitably of adieu when a certain era of relationship reaches its end. historically, i’ve been prone to entering romances like a storm, diving headlong into that moment’s intensity. i became skilled in neatly compartmentalizing minor relationships so that they never had too much time in the light. it was in the shadows that i became obsessed with the high of a fast burn. it’s been a few years since i’ve had a romance like that and there are times when i lust for that feeling and reminisce on the string of seemingly endless ones from my early twenties.
it felt easier, then, to fall in love. to feel infinite even in my unraveling, hurling myself into the city night — the perfect way to feel saved, over and over again. every stranger in a bar, at the deli, on the train. each one, a portal. i can still feel the aching loneliness that threaded all of us, that made it possible for so many of us to find each other, even if only for an hour or a night. a city full of dreamers, poets, and lovers. that’s the thing i miss most about that time and place — the willingness of so many people to hold their hearts beating in their hands as offering. “i don’t know how long it will keep, won’t you please hold it with me while we can?” time distills down to this moment; it’s all we have and we want to drink it fully.
since moving to kauaʻi five years ago, i’ve experienced an interesting shift in the pace of my romantic life. i keep wanting for the passion of wild abandon and keep finding myself disappointed with unmatched desire. meanwhile, because new york has been the backdrop for most of my personal favorite romantic moments, so much so that any other setting pales in comparison, even the objectively mediocre experiences there make me feel fulfilled simply because it was set in the city of my heart.
why is this?
i’m sitting at the dining table in the house i live in with five other women, where there’s a constant rotation of love stories being told. one of my roommates tells me about her spontaneous weekend romances on a sailboat at one of the most beautiful places on the island. as i’m listening to her bask in afterglow, it strikes me that, perhaps, my constant referring back to new york as the place of romance makes it so i don’t allow myself to be open to it as abundantly anywhere else. every other place is tinged with the dullness of not-new-york.
it’s me, occluding my own sight.
right before it sheds its skin, a snake’s eyes typically cloud over and become opaque, obscuring its vision. the liminal space of transformation is a season in itself — one that often requires more internality and reflection. if i imagine myself serpentine, perhaps it is that i’ve been preparing myself for the necessary molting of my forlorn propensity to search for a time long passed and to soon slither out from the dead skin of years come and gone with clearer eyes and a softness, made for the light of this new world.
i closed my laptop after writing that last sentence and decided that i would start my new life of being open to the romance that can come not-in-new-york. it was july 4th and i was heading to a big celebration at the beach. on my way there, i stopped by a grocery store and had a happenstance conversation with a stranger who kept telling me that he could feel that something was going to happen for me that night. it would be magical! i might even meet someone! i took his words as a warm blessing on fresh skin.
the evening was absolutely breathtaking and one specific moment encapsulated it all — the final sun shower of the day stunning everything luminescent, a sherbert sunset makai and a saturated rainbow nestled in pink clouds mauka, music filling the air, sparklers lighting up the beach, everyone laughing, celebrating, holding each other, and i, witnessing and feeling it all. and i did end up meeting someone; i’d met him before, but had the opportunity to meet him anew with a more open heart. it was the lover i had just thought unreachable yet there we were — melting into each other, once again.
So beautiful ♥️✨ “it’s me, occluding my own sight” this felt so real to me. Not just in the way of falling in love with people but also in the way of falling in love with places. For years, I placed nyc on a pedestal that it stopped me from taking any other place as home, even when circumstances led me elsewhere. And when I saw how I was in my own way, I let it go. suddenly love revealed itself. It’s always been here.
I share that feeling, but for me it's "not Block Island." However, that has really been shifting lately. Nostalgia is so interesting, isn't it?