I can’t believe I’m already halfway through my trip. Every day it seems to be going by faster and faster which is bittersweet. I’m already missing all of the things I’ve seen and learned but I’m not missing them more than everyone back home. Here is a recap of the things I saw, wrote, and thought of during week two.
“If I could draw I’d paint you a picture of all that I can see, the way it tugs my heart and buckles at my knees. I’m not alone, I feel it, the spirits in the wind. But I’ve lost my touch for you my dear, now where do we begin?”
“I think Galway is a city for everyone. The population is young but it doesn’t feel like a college town. I could see myself telling everyone in my life they would love it here which you can’t do for most places.”“Are you trying to hold on to me? Because I’m trying to let you go.”
“The greatest writers all seemed to have been haunted by something, usually themselves. You write to let what’s inside of you out, whatever it is that you’re wrestling with. I’m not haunted by the things that many famous writers were, I don’t fight an addiction, a terrible childhood or any major demons. I find myself haunted by the world and the people in it, both awed and terrified. The sudden onslaught of emotion that one hill, one sentence, one glance can create can break me down to the point where all there is left to do is write about it. Some people sing, some dance, some sit in silence, but in our own way we’re all talking – bleeding out our souls until what’s haunting us is released.”
“Maybe never having your heart broken is just as bad as always having it broken. Suppose it means that you did not love enough, feel enough, so that when the moment of leaving arrives you can turn away, taking steps that don’t want you knock you to your knees. What if being without a broken heart for too long is exactly the thing that prevents you from love? The panic of falling, of knowing the end might hurt, ends up so dramatized, so hyperbolic when you haven’t felt it in your current lifetime. This ascending fear, stronger with the passing of time, becomes so crippling, so debilitating, that it stops you right when it’s about to get so good. We tend to forget that those moments of crushing hope and battered love pass, they subside, just as the days do, too. It’s the love that stays, the love that holds your memory, the love that makes you wake up one day in the midst of that very same love-created heartbreak and say, “I think I like this bed better without him, anyway.” Because if you never loved him, you never would know what it’s like to love being without him. So don’t stop your love in fear of heartbreak. It’s the heartbreak that should be fearful of love.”
“I realized that all the men I thought I could love were nothing special. There was no separation between how I felt with them and how I felt walking home from a club with a Belgian boy. It was fun to be with him and I felt pretty when he kissed my hand. I’ve thought of him fondly but in a way you think of a happy memory. And there was no difference in emotion in what I’ve felt for him or for anyone else.”
“I could never thank you enough. And I’m sorry, so sorry. I love you for every part of you, even the parts you don’t see. I’ve tried so hard to be as good as you. But it’s here, without you, that I’m finally learning all the lessons you’ve fought so hard to teach me. It’s not that my respect for your insight, intuition, and worldliness has somehow quadrupled into the stratosphere, when I thought it was already at its peak. You’ve tried so hard to make me feel the love given to me, to feel exactly what I deserve but I could never quite get it. But spending all this time alone, with passersby but no one constant, I see how strong I am just like this. And how I need nothing except for all that I already have, anything more would be the most beautiful of bonuses. So I’m sorry, so sorry, for never quite grasping this before.”