Positive regard

Seems silly to kill a streak for no good reason.

Dave Hause sent me down a little winding path of nostalgia today.

I haven’t spent much time looking back this past year. I mean, I have in an unwitting, flashbacky sort of way, when my pain has overridden my reason and demanded I gallop through past landscapes while it takes gritty snapshots to justify its existence.

But I haven’t reminisced all that much.

The past is a chequered palace I haven’t really felt safe walking the halls of.

But last night, I listened to Dave Hause and, far from being drenched in quiet misery, I was stirred to something resembling, well, resolve. I had forgotten something about Dave Hause and his music. I’d forgotten about the huge Heart in it. The Hope in it. I’d wondered whether it might draw me back to a version of myself I had left behind, but instead it simply nodded to that version, and I laughed about it, and felt fortified as this new version of myself, so many iterations later.

This evening, I found myself looking through photos from one of the most difficult and painful times of my life – from when my son was barely one and I was destroying myself trying to save a relationship with his father that couldn’t be saved. And there was no sting of betrayal, loss, regret or victimhood. Merely an oozy, burning feeling of consolidation, as I integrated different aspects of my life and my self.

At some point, so long as we don’t hold onto it, the pain and shame of the past dissipates and leaves us with memories skewed toward the positive. While I was looking the other way, it seems I have been blessed by that phenomenon of late.

Dave Hause

I didn’t make any resolutions about this blog.

My resolution this year is to get filthy rich. To be as selfish and glorious as I was always destined to be. To cultivate my Great-and-Terrible-Queen-type energy. But mainly to get filthy rich.

I think that’s really all I came here to say. And when I opened up the floor to any other thoughts that might like to join the party, all that came along was Dave Hause, the punk-grown-up-singer-songwriter from Philadelphia who soundtracked my quiet and despair-drenched life at the backend of 2014. His debut solo album was called Resolutions, and his voice is rivalled only by Brian Fallon in its ability to evoke a nostalgic and comforting grief in me that I don’t think is even my own. Definitely not filthy rich energy. More like good, clean destitution.

Lost to the grind

Sometimes I miss who I used to be.

Mostly not.

But occasionally, in an old photo, I’ll see a glimpse of a girl I’d forgotten I’d been, who hadn’t gone through quite so many traumas and challenges, and who probably wasn’t really as bad as I sometimes like to condemn her as. And I rue the day I lost her.

Not that there was a day.

More of a grinding succession of days of me going against my true nature in pursuit of things I didn’t truly want.

I can see how the contrast of all that bleakness and despair, against the joy and love I always knew was possible, informed the blueprint of the person I am now. And I really, really like who I am now. If that was the only way to get to here, I’m fine with that.

But was it?

That is the useless, unanswerable question that I should just tell to fuck off because it’s just trying to fuck with me.