Wow...It's been a long time since I've written a blog entry. I guess it's never too late to pick up where I left off, though.
This past year has been a blur. In June, Lucas and I made the familiar trek back to Tennessee, except in August when the time came to return to Norfolk, I stayed in Tennessee. I will never forget the look on Lucas' face when I pulled out of his parents' driveway to go to work the day he left for Virginia. It was brutal - teary-eyed and angry, the way a three year old looks after waking from a nap only to see the sitter instead of his mom. I spent the next several months engulfed in school work and running every night in preparation for the half marathon I would run in October. While running at night, I would blast "The Cave" by Mumford and Sons and pick up my pace to the line "but I will hold on hope and I won't let you choke on the noose around your neck and I'll find strength in pain and I will change my ways I'll know my name as it's called again." I used these word to develop my mantra. "You can do this. You will survive. This will make you stronger." Somehow this made the tears and hurt subside.
Lucas and I managed to see each other at least once a month. We spent major holidays, birthdays, and our anniversary together...even if they were a few days after the fact. We talked on the phone pretty much every day. We kept up on the big events in each others' careers and daily lives. We held each other when we were together. We fought when it seemed appropriate to fight, because we knew the importance of "keeping it real." We grew comfortable in our separation, and we got upset when our separation felt too comfortable. But...we made it. And in a few days, our separation ends.
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Sometimes I wonder how I became an artist. I was raised in a family that worked hard - physically. One of my earliest memories is carrying a large basket of corn from our big garden to our house. I was bare foot and stepped on a bee by our grape vines. After dropping the corn and screaming, my parents ran to me, scooped me up, and plopped my swollen foot into a tub of warm water and bouillon cubes. My mother hushed my tears and reminded me that my pain was temporary. The Davis family prided itself on strength - of the physical and emotional nature. Somehow, in that mentality, I saw my mother create a beautiful home for us with little money and a large imagination. I saw my father hunt deer with a precision I will never understand. His tracking skills and respect for his kill have always been magical and somehow completely compassionate. Despite their blue collared persona, my parents were visionaries and dreamers. And through that, they produced an actress and a dancer - a visionary and a dreamer. Artists.
I always knew I would marry an artist. I just didn't realize how MUCH of an artist I would fall in love with. I didn't realize that the artist I would marry would spend the majority of his time laughing at the words on a page of a book I didn't care anything about. I didn't realize that my artist would spend countless hours stressing about one sentence that didn't quite fit among hundreds of other sentences. I didn't realize that bills and taxes and employment would take the back seat to a short story. I didn't realize that my artist's love for writing would make me question my love for dance. I never expected to feel jealous of my artist's art.
Lucas is not normal. He is the most difficult human being I have ever met...besides myself. That is why we work. Only I would sit through countless rants about "making it as a writer." And only Lucas would ask to watch my dance recitals on dvd repeatedly.
Lucas and I grew as a couple in Norfolk. We were all each other had. We would sit in our laundry room and sing songs together. Contemplate cleaning, and decide to watch a marathon of Netflix t.v. reruns instead. We drove each other to work. We picked each other up from class. He carried my bags to the car at midnight when I returned home from a weekend of EVMS work. I accompanied him to readings at Borjo coffee house. He quizzed me for Bio tests and I proof read his workshop pieces. I changed his flat tire and he held my hair back when I was sick. When I felt like quitting, he said "do it." And when I changed my mind, he supported me.
Marriage is no easy feat. Marry a man you've known your whole life, but dated for only a year - and you're next to crazy. But what artist isn't a little crazy? Just look at Van Gogh. (Lucas and I still have both our ears at least.) Marry a man you're madly in love with, and you'll find a kindred spirit in me. If you listen to Lucas and I talk on the phone, you'll probably think - man, they bicker a whole bunch. Listen to Lucas and I talk on the phone, and you'll also probably think - man, they talk to each other honestly. Lucas and I have the best impossible relationship ever.
I am so excited to get my love back home with me. I need my husband. He makes me who I am. The past nine months have been rough, but educational. They've tested us, most definitely. They've made us stronger, as I'd hoped they would. But I'm so glad they're over.
Welcome home, sweetheart.
(Here is the song we used to sing together....La Mar by The Beautiful Girls)
http://youtu.be/h9Me4KIiPLU
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