Who Get’s Custody of the Music?

The question of division of assets comes-up every time a relationship ends. What people often forget about are the shared experiences and memories, who get’s those? I like to claim ownership of all my memories, but today I was reminded of one of the casualties of separation: Music.

I was sitting in the Travel Office with the clerks (tweedle dee and tweedle dumber) and there was old school hip-hop and R&B blaring. While I like this music, I don’t like having anything Blaring while I work. This was more than annoying though, it became emotional torture. Each song made me miss D like crazy, the memories flooding in.

Now, I am very blessed that D is still part of my life, but listening to “his music” or “our songs” felt like having a serrated knife nonchalantly pulled through my chest. This shock of sentiment made me realize that this is something I have been unconsciously avoiding. There will come a time when I can listen to these songs without them breaking my heart, but for now, Hip Hop is dead to me. I wonder if he has had to give-up any of his songs. I somehow doubt it, music is in his soul. I think to him the ownership goes without question, they are all his.

Funny how something so seemingly innocuous can sneak-up and punch you in the gut. I have made a great effort to keep certain things, certain city blocks and restaurants, but this I cannot fight, this will be his until the wound heals. I look forward to the day when those songs can make me smile, fondly remembering. D is a good man and I will always love him, but someday it won’t hurt to do so.

Sentimental

Walking to work today I caught a whiff of diesel fuel. That smell brings me back to the war and all the memories from that time. The pangs of longing have become much more quiet these days and I suddenly remembered a time last spring, when the fierce longing was so intense that I ended up in Dr. Katz’s chair. I remembered how tortured and sad I was. I remembered that the moment I finally broke into tears was when I finally admitted that the thing I missed the most about those times was me. The hopeful young woman who had the entire world in front of her. I had lost my hope. I felt so trapped by my life and so disheartened by the future. No wonder I was filled with dread every evening in bed and every morning when I awoke.

Thinking back on that day, I realized something profound: It is not times in our lives that we long for, not really, if you break it down to its most basic form, it is a feeling we miss. Life is never perfect, there is always bad along with the good. Clearly this was true for my military service! It was not the army life in early 2000 that I longed to recapture, it is impossible to recreate a period of time with all its intricacies, it was the youthful hope, fearless love and deep friendships.

I find this epiphany to be profound because it offers a solution. Though you cannot go back in time, you can find ways to re-capture the things you truly long for. That singular therapy session did not cure me, it did not calm the screaming in the pit of my stomach, but perhaps it was the seed that lead me to my experiment a few months later, the experiment that lead me back to friendship, hope and confidence.

Next time I am feeling that sentimental stab, I will ask myself what it is I am truly in need of: closer relationships with my family, excitement, adventure. I can never go back, but the past may help me to craft a better present and future. Passion is my compass and perhaps now I see that the past can be the needle, for at the core of sentiment is desire a close companion to passion.

I am on my way, I may take a wrong turn here or there, but I am no longer the woman who wakes in a panic of the life she has come to loath, I am no longer the lonely woman trapped in her memories, I may not know exactly where I am going, but I am no longer lost.