As time shifts ahead an hour, everyone notices and abides, and after a few days no one notices. It is with such an effortless gesture for the introduction of a time that has been so destructive for me. The gradients and tones all change, and the escapism and lavishness once felt in the spring and summer become moments of desperation and longing. I try to make sense of it every year, I try to maintain and hold on to those I love, and I try to remember how it felt to be of true heart.
There was a time when people were sure of me, when I was more sure of myself. November is always a time when I brace for change, it represents a time when my whole world was once changed. I was terribly in love with a girl and she had left me after a seven year relationship. Not a thing in the world could change her mind. As A young man I was convinced that if I tried my best at something, it would work out. That you could manifest what you needed, or you could augment the world to make the situation right. As my daddy said to me as a kid “if what you want doesn’t exist, then you gotta build it.” It was a real punk rock ethos before I even knew what it was. When she had left, there wasn’t a single thing I could do. I couldn’t make her see how much it meant, couldn’t explain to her that there were bigger things for us, that we had changed our lives to make this happen. Even when I attempted, the combination of words couldn’t do a damned thing.
As I packed my bags that evening, and dumped whatever was important to me in garbage bags, the snow fell. I remember the tears welling up in my eyes as I gathered my coats. As the story treats me, I hauled my belongings into my truck, but as I attempted to leave I got stuck in the snow. I had gained enough strength to leave my situation only to be stuck on a hill in the snow. “Evan when I try to leave, I can’t.” The manifestation of all my feelings into a physical barrier. I slept in the car that evening, waiting till the sun came up to drive away.
“Ian, I love you.” Are words that have been uttered to me many times since. Words I can’t even say to those I’m passionate and mad about. I can’t even hear them without being sent into a hard place. And as much as I feel sorry for myself, and balance the weight of self loathing with my natural tendency to smile, I feel bad for the girls who get involved with me. My boyishness and carefree attitudes all become so foreign when this time rolls around, It gets so bad that I don’t even hear people talking to me sometimes. There have been moments of extremes, and on more than one occasion, moreso than i’d like to admit, it has tried to take me down the darkest corridors, but as I get older it still can’t take that boy from me. I make a conscious effort every year to brace myself. There is a future, and I’ll go on. It has to stop sometime, because I’ll stop trying to change my world.