The Big Chill

After cooking up some pasta for dinner, and uncorking a really cheap bottle of wine, I decided to nestle in for a bit with a flick. Nothing of interest on the cable channels I pay a fortune for (as usual), so I searched the free movies On Demand, and saw "The Big Chill." It had been a very long time since I last saw it, but was drawn in not only by my memory of having liked it years ago, but also from remembering that my family once had the vinyl soundtrack to it, with great old Motown tracks to sing along to, which I always loved to play in my youth.

As the movie starts out, I'm reminded of the theme: one member of a group of old friends kills himself, and the others all come together for the funeral and a weekend of reminiscing and re-connecting in a slew of different ways.

*Big breath*

I do the initial preparation, as I still do, guarding my emotions from scenes of death and a funeral. My father's passing is still fresh, just over a year later. I thought while watching the opening scenes, eyes watering despite my stoic efforts, that I'll probably always be one of those people who cries easily when speaking of death, and of Dad, always missing him so.

After those first few scenes, as it gets into the story with the group of friends being together in their comfortable, however drawn apart, circle, another familiar emotion of late crops up: loneliness. I've already written about it several times in my blogs, and it is a prevalent theme in my life these days. I spend many nights at home alone, just aching for familiar company and affection. I cry about it sometimes, think about it way too often, try to write it out in songs or poems.

Watching these friends in the film reminds me of my own circle, knowing that our busy time of the year together - festival season - is upon us, and there will be many of these reunions just around the corner. It gives me comfort. I scold myself for being so indulgent in this sentiment, reminding myself that I had two lovely invitations just this evening to go out and be in good company. In the end, I chose to stay home - and for good reason: I have a busy day ahead tomorrow with dress rehearsals at two schools, and a cocktailing gig in the evening which one of my best friends hooked me up with. I need an early night, and good rest.

As the movie played on, I realized just how long it's been since I last watched it. I thought, "Wow, I'm now the age of these characters... have experienced similar events and dynamics in my own life." This fascinated me, and I mused for a bit on aging. One day, you're watching a film your parents really seemed to like, and you did too, in your young age - fantasizing about the intricate love triangles, eager for the day when you'll enjoy adult commaraderie over many glasses of wine (and other things!), wishing that you were as cool, as "put together" as the adults always seemed to be.

I toss back another glass of Garnacha (which is quite fine for only $4/bottle), looking at the door, wishing someone lovely and romantic would come knocking, wanting to share the other 1/2 bottle with me. And then, for the first time, I realize something: this loneliness beleaguring me, which I moan to my friends about too often of late, is really just a pretense. In the first place, I've never, ever really been alone - throughout my whole life, I have been exhaustingly blessed with people - gads of people everywhere. Friends, fans, colleagues, what have you. In the second, even throughout the many years I was coupled with partners, I still felt lonely. They would be there, providing for me exactly what I think I'm missing so dearly now - warmth, companionship, affection... my argument then was always that it just wasn't what I wanted; THEY just weren't what I wanted at that time, in those moments. The grass is always greener. As Joni says, "I'm so hard to handle; I'm selfish and I'm sad..."

"So what do I want?," I ask, my mind racing. I want to be brave, and to acknowledge that what I'm truly feeling is a deeper loneliness that has been with me throughout my life. I have tried to mask it, and hide from it by being with other people, being on stage in front of people, by smoking grass to help me to forget, by staying in relationships that didn't suit me to draw the attention and focus away from where it should have been all along: on me.

Why is it so hard to sit with myself and just be? What is so lacking, or starving, or desperate, or cold? Why am I afraid I don't have the spark within me to feed those coals, to fan those flames, to stand in the middle of my burning and still be okay? I feel that I DO know this on a conscious level, feel like I've been self-analyzing for decades of my life, and KNOW myself. Yet, on an emotional level, I still struggle to understand. I fail to understand what the struggle even is anymore.

I know many people in my life who see me from their perspective, who opine about what they feel I have yet to realize and to change or fix. They do this from a place of love, and they offer suggestions when I ask their direct opinion - because I have that kind of circle of friends, just like in the movie, and better. I hear their words, I agree with their insight. It all registers in the head, but has yet to really sink into the heart. People say, "You can't fix what you don't acknowledge." I don't know about that. I think that's the first step, but after comes the arduous work of living life, experiencing moments that continue to guide and teach you until you're at that perfect place where lessons can finally sink in and take hold. 'Til it hits the "warm spot," that sacred honey pot, sealed with its sticky sweetness and guarded by ten million stinging bees. It takes a perfect moment to access that doorway. Just ask Pooh.

I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette, and before I had even finished half, the melancholy had subsided. Only two minutes away from the movie and my mind was already racing with all the projects, plans, dreams I'm making daily progress towards. What a character I am - I laughed thinking that I should, myself, be in a movie. Lord knows, I come pistol-packed with a billion stories and every emotion known to man tacked firmly in place with each and every one of them.

'Til then: it might be lonely, it might be hard. I will continue to question and wonder, weep and worry, cry and laugh two seconds later. It's gonna take time, and I'm glad to have this life to figure it out. Time to find that perfect spark within me which, I hope, will begin to thaw my own inner Big Chill.