An Open Letter to my Love-no-Longer

Dear love-no-longer,

My heart has perked up upon letting your image wander back into my thoughts. It’s been forever, or at least it feels that way. Have the seasons already cycled through twice since the first time we met? There was a fire between us. Instantly we connected that night, and we proved that connection in the best way we knew how- physically.

I have no regrets that our love story began that way. We connected tangibly, and I hoped it would be a matter of time until our minds and spirits followed suit. You found a home inside of me, and I thought my happiest breaths were inhaled while intertwined with you.

I let myself love you. I let myself love every piece of you, every broken piece. I let the hard parts of myself melt at your touch, I let my heart thaw for you.

But you did not love me.

As I lay awake, envisioning our love in rosy hues, you saw me in muted grays and browns. You liked me, I know you did. You tolerated me, you were amused by me, you were attracted to me. But you did not feel the passionate blaze I felt for you. You did not have the selfless yearning to please me the way I did for you.

So I started to fall out of love with myself.

You never called me pretty, and I started to doubt my own beauty. You never called me dazzling nor brilliant nor inspiring, and the light drained from my eyes.

Instead, you called me crazy, masking it a term of endearment. You called me cool and nice and ok. You constricted your tongue to mediocrity and I believed it all. I folded myself into smaller and smaller pieces, until I was ultimately the size of the minute being you thought me to be.

I shrunk smaller and smaller until I could no longer restrain my natural vigor. I finally realized that it was time to fall in love with the most important person in my life- me.

I began to be dazzling and brilliant and inspiring. I deflected all the wasted love I had for you back to myself. As my heart drained itself of the poison your plainness had injected, it refueled on bright golden and crimson sparks, the colors of passion.

I treated myself with tenderness and care, just as I had always longed for you to do. I showed myself a deeper affection than you were ever capable of.

And as I fell more in love with myself, I fell out of love with you. You, the boy who had been my north star. The boy who synchronously gave me everything and nothing. The boy who did not destroy me all at once, but instead took pieces and pieces of me away until I was a mangled skeleton of myself.

I am in love with myself. You may have been my love once, but you are most definitely my love-no-longer.

– A strong, astounding, incredibly complete version of myself


Confidence and Music

It’s hard to realize your desired path is not the one you will actually follow in life.

I, for example, had dreams of becoming a music therapist. My parents spent a small fortune on music lessons for me and when I wasn’t getting privately trained in voice, guitar, piano, and theory, I was practicing for my school band, chorus, select choir, and symphony orchestra. This all was distraction for the times when I wasn’t in rehearsals for my international Jewish teen choir, of which I was also a part of the chamber choir.

In short, music was my life. It was all I knew, my identity. I was “the music girl” at my high school, and I would not have wanted to give up that title for the world.

I wanted to be a music therapist because I saw all the potential the field held for me. Helping others through the medium I loved most? Interacting with different populations and instruments on a daily basis? Making a difference in the lives of others? What was not to love?

During the musical era of my life, however, I was not able to help myself. It was during these years that I was at my lowest points of life. In fact, there were days which I no longer wished to even exist. I hated myself- I hated my appearance, I hated my personality. It did not help that the “music world” is one of competition. I was never the most talented, never the smartest. Sure, I was involved, but I would never be a musical prodigy. I worked my ass off to try to impress those around me, but in reality I think I was just trying to help myself to believe I was good enough.

Thinking back now, my lack of confidence reared its ugly head in every aspect of my life. Musically, it was very difficult for me to stand up straight and own the stage. Even when I was performing Italian Arias which I knew I loved, I could not bring myself to feel the surge of diva power I was thirsting for. I was fine with singing sad, lonely songs. Those I could relate to. But how about powerful songs celebrating independence? I just could not bring myself into character.

I remember the day my world imploded. I had auditioned for the music school at my university but was faced with a non-music therapy panel and knew I had failed the audition. When I received the letter articulating my worst fears, that I was denied of pursuing my dreams, I was crushed. I locked myself into a bathroom and hysterically cried until nightfall. The thought of killing myself spun around in my head during those horrific hours, but I wouldn’t let the music win.

This is the day I learned that my love for music was unrequited. I’d have to reformulate my dreams, and that was terrifying.

Two years later, I am at my best. Music is only in my life when I want it to be, and I have cleared a new path for myself. Public Relations and Intercultural Communication are a much better fit for me. Here I am living a life I would have never pictured for myself, and loving every moment of it. Though I still am not quite comfortable in my own skin, I have confidence. I’m beginning to see my own beauty. For the first time, I am focusing on the radiance of my smile instead of the bulge of my belly.

For the first time, I am truly happy. The strong, difficult roles I had struggled with in music are now the parts of me I let show when giving public presentations. The beautiful Italian Arias I had once loved to perform are now topics of conversation in meetings with Italian friends and colleagues.

While I miss music a lot more than I’d care to admit, I am so happy with who and where I am now. For the first time, I am confident.

So, I suppose the message of this whole rant is this: Life will change you. Let it.