She asked me how I was. A familiar question, especially to southerners. We say it…ask it so very much that it takes the place of a simple greeting. “How ya’ll doing” as you enter a full room is the greeting – it is a hello; equating the mundane with the extremely personal. Since, in all simplicity, asking someone their state of being is indeed a very personal inquiry. But, she asked, and from her lips a framework of the heart appeared. Kindred spirits know it when they are approached with/by it. She really wanted to know how I was; wanted…needed to know my sense of being – good, bad, or indifferent. It was refreshing and scary. It is a different approach this day in age – to have the space, the wisdom, the integrity, the audacity to ask someone about the condition of their soul. And I was grateful. Grateful to not have to respond with a conservative reply. Empaths, like myself are all too familiar with the weight of considering another, even when they’ve asked for your input. It is exhausting. It is lonely. I’m fine, over time, becomes fuck off (you wouldn’t want to know even if I trusted you enough to tell you) – and I don’t…so don’t ask. Some times in our lives we are too changing (evolving at a rate that defies gravity) to support mere jest, mere small talk. And a true hello during these times can change the course of an entire day. It is a kind of hell – to come to hate (hell)os. It’s a hell the abandoned know all too well and that the unapproachable anticipate with oxymoronic fear. For, to extend a greeting is to be prepared for a goodbye. They have…we have turned men into aloof passerby’s and women into straight savages. And it’s not even about being afraid of departures; but, more about resenting painted on smiles and raised eyebrows that trump salty tears and the delayed reward of real. The resentment goes even deeper as the depth-lovers feel a surface presence that solicits you to make the outsiders feel comfortable in your space – forcing you to swallow down all that darkness so that they are provided enough light to see past you. When is the last time you asked someone how they were and waited for the entirety of that answer? Been prepared for the heaviness that might follow? Fake shit is worse than real shit. And a fake hello is worse than one million real goodbyes.
No way you’ll see me cry. I’m way too good at goodbyes. -Sam Smith*
She greeted me with a “hey, Mah” and asked me how I was. And I knew, deeply at that moment that ethereal spirits travel through safe places known as girlfriends. The consonants felt feathery and you could feel the vibrations of the vowels. It beckoned me in the way your grandmother would on a Sunday after church when it’s time to stop playing and come eat. And you are fed by the people who made you while they heeded to the act of making love. Again, ethereal spirits travel through safe places. She told me to g’on and break without saying those words and I knew that so much could be in a name depending on who uttered it.
We give all the glory to the ones who refuse to break. But what no one tells you is that the creases…those pesky, permanent evidences of fold will be held against you until so much time has passed that they are no longer discernible. Stop folding. Stop bending. There’s so much strength in the act of breaking. G’on and break. -MAHism 2017
She said hello and I was reminded that the word ‘genuine’ does not have a true noun form. Did you know that? But! There are at least 1,000 Sincere’s born every year (we force so much, don’t we?). I think that God calls her Sincere… She followed her “hello” with a question about my state of being and I could feel the crack in my foundation starting to fill-in. Oh yeah, that foundation can crack when all you have are good intentions and promises that you would never knowingly splinter. But the other half…the other half has taken away your faith in hello. Told you that they would forever be concerned with your being. Promised you no more goodbyes – even after death did ya’ll ‘part. Looked into your eyes and named the exact body of water the tears came from – and when you were with them, it was freshwater…only. Now, the saltwater burns your cheeks. It is difficult to love someone who has mastered goodbyes – toxic actually. Your hello is never trusted because they do not trust their own. And so, they renege… And you…you are the one who’s blamed when you no longer trust the dealer of the cards. You are the one left with a winning hand and a partner with just a possible (equaling no partner at all). Only sincerity can bridge that kind of gap.
Sometimes a person is a thing, an idea, an experience. Like…HOME. Like…PEACE. Like…TSUNAMI. Like a mountain (to climb). Or a valley (to dredge through). And you don’t know pain until you’ve had to turn that thing into an adverb. Like…never, ever again. -MAHism 2017
She asked me how I was and I told her I was better. And I appreciated that she hadn’t asked me how I felt. Because I’d learned that though it is great to feel well, it is more important to be well. And that mostly, on the way to being well…you might not feel so fuckin’ fantastic.
The hurt is a sign of the real cure traveling home. Be easy and ache on. -MAHism 2017
She greeted me and her approach heightened my aching bones and quaking sternum – reminding me that they were still very much aching and quaking. Like a city that’s seen the other side of the eye of the storm – it’s inhabitants do not brag about the storm finally being over; they are just appreciative of the opportunity to try out the emergency plan and the triumph that follows: ‘this is not a drill’ once the all-clear is proclaimed. Then the tear came…out of nowhere! No, really it came out of nowhere! And if you’ve ever traveled to nowhere, then you are aware that it is definitely somewhere – an entire state. There’s a capital and city lines and lakes and rivers where pretty people gather on pretty days. But it wasn’t that time of the month. And I wasn’t anticipating a stressful occurrence around the bend. And not everything was necessarily lined up perfectly based on plans initiated six months before. And it wasn’t even joy. And…it was…just a tear. For being better. The flood that followed…for a kindred spirit who cared enough to ask how my soul was holding up with a genuine ‘hey, Mah’ while she stayed to listen to the answer.
May you always be in the company of those who don’t mind the saltwater of your soul’s cry and never, ever be too damn good at goodbyes. -MAHism 2017
Citation(s):
*Sam Smith. “Too Good At Goodbyes”. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AX8-YzMKZhQ. Music. Published 2017. Accessed 09/09/2017.
MAHism2025: prose, poetry, peculiarities... 