in bright brainlight

my boyfriend, with whom i did not break up after he ignored me for a day and a half this past weekend even though a month ago i said i was gone if he shut me out again the way he did the night before / morning of my birthday, told me yesterday that he thought i was selfish and put too much value on my own feelings.

i told him what my therapist said to say when i feel he is projecting something onto me that doesn’t really have anything to do with me: “that doesn’t fit for me.”

"fuck everything."

and more specifically, 

i know. still going. sad, grounded, hopeful.

Happened to be at Schuler Books today, working on / finishing up a cover letter (dream job??), when The Minimalists began their book talk. 

A lot of what they said resonated with me, especially given all the crap I've lugged home from college and am still working my way through (sorry, Mom & Dad, about the current narrow condition of our hallway). 

My focus, at the moment, isn't so much about their philosophy (always asking, "Does this thing add value to my life?"; living more intentionally/deliberately; cultivating passion by "be[ing] willing to sit in the chair," i.e., being willing to put in the work; focusing on health, relationships, growth, and contribution), which, as I said, resonated with me. It's more about how a longing feeling--that longing feeling--got triggered in me. Saudade?

I wanted to go up and talk to these guys (they were funny, charismatic, thoughtful, and seemed genuinely to care about reaching their audience), but I chose to walk away. I was looking for Connection--capital C, for sure. But then I figured, a book talk with 100+ people lining up to see two dudes likely wouldn't fulfill my longing to connect. Still, I was tempted to turn the car around even at the second stop light toward home.

My therapist suggested that maybe I've been keeping busy / keeping company with people to avoid certain questions. I'm not sure what those questions are, given that I've been avoiding them. Right now, though, I'm wondering, where does this longing come from? How do I acknowledge it, address it, without compressing it? Is it different from loneliness?

That E. Dickinson quotation again:

Narcotics cannot still the Tooth / That nibbles at the soul.