When I was 18, I got my first tattoo of a small pair of wings. It was not some deluded tribute to thinking of myself as an angel, or anything to do with fairies, but a simple reminder to always have perspective in life. The wings were my freedom, the ability to fly away and gain perspective when it came to any situation, and see it with fresh eyes. Throughout the years I've amassed a couple other tattoos which are more like love scrawls that create a delicate narrative along my body, and realized that I needed perspective more than ever...instead of being consumed by situations since I am so driven by emotions, especially when I think love is involved.
I've been in New York the past couple days, and I can't think of a better place to regain my perspective. Being alone in the most influential metropolis in the world puts you in your place in every way, and also allows one to find an identity in its vast anonymity. It's not that I was a wanderer up until now (love, and always will love Toronto.) but anyone who has been to NYC knows the impact it can have. Spending solo time with nothing but the city and your thoughts is bound to lead to some realizations, even to the most spacey of space cadets, let alone an over-analytic, hyper-thinker like myself.
Add rainy weather, gray skies and slightly more desolate than normal streets and you've got yourself the perfect scene for the emo kind of day I've been having. Pathetic fallacy, my late English teacher from high school taught us it was called when inanimate objects (like the weather) reflected a character's mood. Although I can't blame my thoughts on the dowdy Manhattan weather -- it was beautiful and sunny yesterday and still my brain was thinking faster than it normally does...close to combustion I think it borderlines on at times. Just what is all my perspective being gained in, you ask? Why the answer is obvious for anyone who remotely knows me. Love. Love, love, love. I don't think anyone who's not a Romantic era poet thinks about love as much as I do.
It's a lovely sentiment to live by, but also a huge weakness and my ideas on how it should be in my life (cough, perfectly, cough) usually end in disaster. How does one cope with the little girl who lives in a fairy tale? I have no idea, and neither does any man I've dated. Realistic and rational and unshakably chill I can be, but for some one who is thoughtful and caring and places so much of her happiness on living life that way, it's hard to find that expectation reciprocated in one's romantic life.
And so, with all my trials and tribulations when it comes to being a lovey dovey romantic, I've slipped on my pair of wings here in the Upper East side where I'm staying and attempted to see everything I've been through with fresh eyes. As long as I move forward with some sort of progress, I'll be satisfied. After all we are nothing if not for progress.
x
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