Symptoms of Progress

It's interesting how progress can be so uncomfortable. So... uneasy. So un-easy. And yet, progress is freeing. It's liberating. It's fulfilling.

The drive home is always therapeutic for me. I can zone out, blast my iPod, and breathe easy. Heading home is centering because I know I'll soon be surrounded by people who love me unconditionally. There are no expectations of me, either. No one needs help with anything... except Paris, who needed help moving into her dorm. I don't have to cook - Mom and Dad still do that. No one needs to be taken out - Daddy takes ME out. I don't feel guilty about sitting around the house instead of going out and partying. I go to bed early and I wake up late. The phone doesn't interrupt my thoughts. I don't have to report in to anyone. There are no project deadlines. I can talk about myself endlessly without feeling self-conscious of self-absorbed. I can be honest. I can try and sort out my future with my parents, and know they'll offer guidance with ONLY my best interests at heart. I'm not obligated to say or do anything out of friendship, political correctness or standard networking practices. I'm not compelled to conform. I can be myself - the person I am when no one else is looking - and not feel bad about it. There really is no place like home.

The drive, however, is such a huge portion of the trip, that it takes on a life of it's own. It's as much a part of the trip as my actual destination. I can usually make it in 5 hours from door to door on a good day (with no paroling cops) or a maximum of 7 hours in traffic, with stops, and lots of police officers along the interstate. The music sets the tone. Fiona Apple is a favorite.

This woman is so beautifully intense. I remember in high school feeling a pure and real connection with her words, her music and her style. Even though at the time, I couldn't fully process what she was saying, and I couldn't really relate to her story, I understood. And now that I DO understand, and CAN relate, it feels that much more real. To endure hardships and remain standing really is a powerful and striking feat. Her eloquence amongst heart aching stories is what stands out the most. She captures the rawness of her emotions in heavy, layered, brutal but beautiful poems. Some are silly with a light undertone. Others drench you with tears, disbelief and depression. But she tells the complete story. She speaks of her triumphs and failures. She shakes some off; she carries others with her. Above all, she remains true to herself - unashamed... unabashed... bold. I love her for that.

When I traveled home in June, I couldn't stop crying. Every other song in the shuffle playlist had me in tears. Each song triggered a new pain. Each song triggered a reminder. Each song spoke a new truth. Friday's voyage evoked the same emotions, but solicited no tears. I smiled as I sang my heart out. I felt empowered by the fact that, little by little, I had moved beyond that stage of the grieving process. And, I marvel at the fact that I feel more "whole" because of it. I can empathize with her anguish. I can smile now, though just few months ago I felt incredibly wronged. I can breathe again.

The true test unveiled itself when "Oh Well" began to play. The opening chords stirred something in me as soon as I heard them. I inhaled deeply and began to sing... sans tears... loudly. I made it through the whole song.

I made it through the whole song... to the perfect summation:

What wasted unconditional love,
On somebody who doesn't believe in the stuff
Oh Well