Sentimenal Essentialism

We are creatures that are tethered to each other. There is something illogical that makes us sentimental. Why do we love that ratty toy from our childhood, or have a certain affinity for places or scents or even people?

Loving that toy or scent or person doesn't make you a bad person. It's a natural for humans to assign meaning to inanimate objects, like our childhood security toys. This is called essentialism. This is why a replica of your family heirlooms wouldn't hold the same meaning to you. Possessions hold experiences. Scent holds memories, and memories hold meaning. We are the confusing complicated bundle of human that ultimately holds the most sentimental qualities. Although I am stretching this concept, I whole-heartedly believe that living things carry these sentimental ties.

When you are the person who is the receiver of those sentimental feelings it is strange and confusing. Imagine the feeling of your childhood toy, assuming you hold it to essentialism standards, when you take it out of it's hiding spot to dust it off. It must feel loved again, needed. It was there to comfort you, and it 'knows' you in the most basic way but loves you unconditionally regardless. This thing is something special to you; it taught so much.

You knocked it around, took it everywhere with you, and no matter what you do, it can never be un-tattered. Now, you take care of the things you have. You carefully keep this new thing in a safe place because you realize that things that become broken can never really be put back together in the same way. You may love this new thing, but it is a different kind of love. Reckless love, unconditional messy, I-never-thought-I-could-really-ruin-this kind of love only happens once. Then you put that love in a box in the back of your closet, and only take it out when you're alone and that wave of sentimentalism captures you in her riptide.

A Letter to Philadelphia

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Dear Philadelphia,

It is our anniversary. 5 years ago I cascaded into your orbit.  I came here with someone else, but it is you who held me close all the while. You are a city nestled between two rivers that became my harbor. Philadelphia, my city of brotherly love, you adopted me as a little sister. Your love has protected me and cradled me, but has also given me tough love- just like a brother should.  I love you right back. Philly, you give me space to be myself. You don’t let me get away with BS and don’t mind giving me the finger if I piss you off. You are honest, matter of fact. You don’t clean up when company comes over. You let it all hang out. My darling city, you have your blemishes too. Your bombed out houses, your heartbreaking murder rate, your crumbling industries, your food deserts are areas that have not been brushed aside. There are people in this city who love you as much as I do, and these problems will be addressed. You are as nitty and gritty as they come, and don’t apologize for it. Philly, your streets breed revolution and innovation.  From the constitution to the animal cracker. American Bandstand to jawn.  Your streets hold these memories which undulate between it’s residences. Your buildings are decorated with art. Your empty lots are turned into urban farms. This is a testament to the love bestowed upon you. Philadelphia, my scrappy city, I have truly fallen under your spell. I hold you in a special place in my heart. Here’s to us!

True Love

In other news:
It seems to me that I am a victim of typecasting.

I'd rather be running on a treadmill, than go on a date with you.

Last year around this time I went on a few dates with a guy we'll call "Peter the Pastry Chef". His company was somewhat enjoyable, but while I was with him I'd be thinking about how much more fun I'd be having alone reading. Peter the Pastry Chef was really into me. I could tell how nervous he was, and that he really tried to impress me. Both of which would be completely endearing if I was info him too. There was no spark despite the fact that he was cute (for someone who are cake more than Marie Antoinette), interesting, adventitious (he hiked the Appalachian trail...all of it!), he listened to the same music I did, has a similar upbringing....but there was nothing. After a few dates of not feeling the spark I stopped seeing him.

I find myself in a similar situation, however it is a little stickier- he's a friend of a friend who I see around a lot. Ugh! I enjoy being alone, perhaps a little too much. I like the freedom of doing what I want to when I want to. I like going out without my phone, and not having to answer to anyone.

At the same time I love being a partner to someone who doesn't annoy me. I love having someone who likes to have lazy weekends with movies, and board games. I love someone who will go to a diner in the middle of the night for a club sandwich, pie and coffee, or for a bike ride, or for a walk in the woods.

I guess all I'm saying it that I would prefer to be alone and enjoy myself completely than to be with someone who is ok to be around. Until that special someone comes along who I click with I will be here doin' what I want to.

photo via: CUBICLE REFUGEE