Striving and Nausea

The following is a late night e-mail composed for someone I care about.

I had this three hour long conversation today that only felt like an hour. There were mentions of: political platforms, AA meetings, shame, damnation, laughter, love, foreskin, the loss of virginity, moments of fraternity. The thing that is sticking with me is the idea that a person who is happy must strive to maintain that satisfaction by constantly replenishing herself/himself. That is, we must eat, sleep, fuck, laugh, cry, do without until we get more, etc. Further, there's the business of life's purpose being to work where work equals satisfy; if one loves to draw or write or dance, organize or eat grass, and one does these/that thing, then that someone has set about doing the work of life and is sustaining happiness. To be happy is to grow because by consistently supplying one's self with fuel is to change--is to do whatever fills the void. That is work in its most healthful form.

For me institutional changes are invaluable, because it is during the transition periods that I find what I have and lack and need. So when I change my home and my job or just when I travel/change my pattern, I find out little daunting and crucial things. I don't like to eat grass, but I love trains. I don't need grand gestures, I need the comfort of sharing minutia. My heart likes to be grounded and constantly moving. When I write about myself now, I do so without referencing people that I care about. Perhaps as you send off two of your loves you can send them with letters in their hands about how you've best learned to be happy--sated. I'm sure you'll use your own definition
(your ability to find this is part of your beauty), and then they'll be engaged in conversation with you as they take off. It would be rude not to answer, no? *Poof* a paper bridge between your heart and theirs.

Still, the transition is a rough one. Being more alone makes me feel like I'm preparing for another pubescent phase--I feel like I'm at the part where I have to redefine all of my terms because they're relevant only to the people/places/things in my life that are changing all at once. It is a type of nausea, a sea sickness that stays until you get your legs. It seems to me that you're in a phase like this--will I have a new job? Will some friends become closer as other move toward different bodies of water? The beautiful part is all of the living that happens just before we get a hold on things--just before we finish defining our terms. Those are the feelings we're fully experiencing--all of those sensations without specific terms. These are the conversations that friendships are made of, no matter how far away our bodies are.

It is late, and while I can feel what I'm trying to say, I suspect that I haven't made it all very clear. I told you that I would write to you. I told you that I like to spend time thinking about you while I'm doing something for you. So, I've written, and I'm glad. All I really wanted to say to you, specifically, is that I hope you don't feel more alone in the world, because no matter where they are you've got people loving and thinking about you.