Permanence is Not Permanent

The thing about being alone in a nightclub is that you have to walk outside of yourself. Your posture exists as a method of deception. My friend Alysse said, “You walk with confidence. You strut.” But really, these limbs move to hide insecurity. If we are visual beings, then this is an act of rebellion against the limitations of self. What you feel does not have to be all that you are. We do what we can to hide our realities until this becomes the real truth. If you are one with the rhythm of the music, you can cut across the thoughts building in your mind and find rhythm in the steady four-on-the-floor. You will become an inhuman thing, an organism created within the body of the music. You will become an inhuman thing, neither good nor bad, only hungry for the pleasure coursing through your veins that keeps you breathing.

What you feel does not have to be all that you are.

It's a good night when you throw your hair above your head in a messy bun. The thrill is in the sweat. Your body has expunged itself of something. It slips out of you after the hard work of recovery, of mental pursuit of a better you. And then you keep going for hour one and hour two and even to hour three. Maybe you’ll run into an old friend, and they’ll ask you how you’re doing. “It's been a while,” they’ll say. You may think he was referring to the club, a spot you normally avoided because it wasn't the coolest and the crowd wasn't the brightest and you’re still a little insecure. But really, it was about the difference between where you were just then and where you could be in the future. Permanence is not permanent. You will get through this. Even when permanence feels likely, remember that you can and have and will get through it, and that, of course, is good enough.