Started a new job on Wednesday. Beginning a new job with 18 hours notice can really throw one's rhythm off. Not that it's a bad thing -- not at all! But it's just been a very "uneven" week... uneven sleep patterns, uneven/erratic eating... shit like that.
In the realm of math and science, we often look for a "constant". Pi. Planck's Constant. The square root of two. The golden ratio. Whatever -- a known value that we can use to anchor an equation. We NEED to anchor the fucking equation, right? Of course we do. How else would we be able to pick through all the nonsensical shit and figure out the variables?
Exactly. We WOULDN'T be able to.
Life has been throwing variables at me for many moons now. I like to think I'm somewhat resilient, that I can let 'em bounce off me. Off my head, off my heart, and off my soul. That hasn't always been the case -- in the past, every now and them one of them would nail me in the balls and knock me out of the game for a few minutes.
Lately? Not so much. I have put myself in a better position to look at the equation, figure out the variables, and come up with a logical answer.
How?
Have I found a constant?
Yeah. I think so.
Back to that term, "anchor." Maybe that's what I've been looking for. Something to hold down that ONE LITTLE TINY SPOT OF NORMALCY that I find every now and then. Even if shit is flailing all around in the periphery, just the knowledge that ONE corner is nailed down makes me realize that the rest can thrash around all it wants. Because it ain't going anywhere. It can't, right? Not with that anchor holding it down.
So, what's the constant (the anchor) in my case? What's holding everything in place?
It's a combination of a "what" and a "who."
THE WHAT: A friendship. A deep, profound friendship. And the knowledge that this friendship is constantly (there’s that word again) growing every day. So reassuring.
THE WHO: My new favorite person. A kind, caring soul who I can talk to about anything. Who I can call & either dump a whole day of frustration on, or share the details of an awesome day. Either way, her response is the same: a calming reassurance. Because this is someone who has my back. And this someone? I plan on keeping her around for a rather long time.
When I talk to -- or see -- her, it brings a reassurance to me. And this reassurance has been missing for a long time. One of the key components of our awesomeness is that she doesn’t judge me or critique my choices, even the "questionable-at-best" ones. And that’s just fucking huge. We have similar outlooks on life. We value the same things. We truly and deeply care for each other.
We laugh at each other.
We GET each other.
I hope that she would say some of the same things about me. My guess is that she would. I hope that I bring her the same reassurance and peace that she brings me. I’d be horrified to find out that I wasn’t giving back to this, especially seeing how much I’m getting out of it.
You know what my favorite thing that she brings me is?
Warmth.
I’m not strictly referring to the physical warmth that hits me when we’re embraced in a hug, although that feeling is fucking epic. I mean a warmth that travels over phone lines. It transcends distance. It can come from a text, a phone call, a Skype chat, or even just a fleeting thought of what a wonderful person I have in my life. Shit, I feel it right now as I’m typing this.
And that leads me to a song that I’m gonna try to use to wrap this all up.
The title of the song is the same as the title of this post: “Set the Fire to the Third Bar.” Contrary to what it sounds like, it actually has nothing at all to do with arson.
The songwriter, Gary Lightbody, grew up very poor in Northern Ireland, where he was raised by his grandmother. They lived in a small flat that was often drafty during the harsh Northern Irish winter. The only source of heat in the apartment was a small electric heater -- the old-school kind that has three adjustable levels of intensity, or “bars”. On the coldest of nights, Gary’s grandmother would tell him and his siblings that as a special treat, she would “set fire to the third bar” of the heater in order to keep them extra warm on a night when they needed it.
I’m sure that besides the physical warmth that the heater provided, it gave them warmth in their souls to know that someone was providing comfort for them.
Obviously it was pretty profound to him, as he was inspired to write a song about it.
Tonight, and every night, someone is providing some long-distance comfort to MY soul. I hope she knows how much I appreciate that. Thanks, V.
‘Night, all. Peace.
(HERE is the link to the song)
I find a map and draw a straight line over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from 'A' to where you'd be is only finger-lengths that I can see
I touch the place where I'd find your face
My fingers are in creases of distant dark places
I hang my coat up in the first bar
There is no peace that I've found so far
The laughter penetrates my silence as drunken men find flaws in science.
Their words are mostly noises; ghosts with just voices
But your words in my memory are like music to me
After I have travelled so far
We'd set the fire to the third bar
We'd share each other like an island until exhausted, then close our eyelids.
And when dreaming, we'd pick up from the last place we left off.
Your soft skin is weeping a joy that you can't keep in.
I'm miles from where you are;
As I lay down on the cold ground,
I pray that something picks me up & sets me down in your warm arms
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPKDfBdxkMM
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