what does it mean not to 'settle'

in defense of disruption, indecision and embracing unsettlement as a virtue

Going to AWP? I’ll be speaking on the panel ‘Writing Sex Beyond Survival: From Traumatic to Erotic & the Awkward In-Between’ with Gina Frangello, Amanda Montei, Natashia Deon and Jeannine Ouellette. Join us March 28th at 12:10, Room 503 Level Two, session F187

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My best friend throughout my teen years had a multi-level treehouse and between the main house and a platform with an ocean view was a bridge between two eucalyptus trees. It was shaky and some nights we would get high and dare each other to stand in the middle of it.

The middle part of a bridge is always the scariest, of course, because it is the furthest point from either side and as a teenager I would hold my breath and run whenever I crossed it, flailing and screaming with my heart in my throat.

But one day I sat cross-legged in the middle and lit a smoke. Closed my eyes and instead of imagining falling to my death, I imagined being held, right there, in the in between.

After that, the bridge didn’t scare me. I did always wonder why the house part wasn’t built on the side of the tree with the view but it felt poetic that one could not have both the comfort of carpets and bedding and a view of the ocean at the same time.

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I have been thinking a lot about this lately — the bridge and what it means for two separate but equal platforms to conjoin. The algo knows me so well that moments after posting this, Poetry is not a Luxury posted this, which is exactly what I’m talking about. The complications of wanting to be two places at once.

The longing for shelter when we are taking in the view.

It occurred to me when selecting images for a carousel post to promote the Stay or Leave workshop that when one says, “don’t settle,” what she is really saying is: prioritize being unsettled — a thing that no one ever says because actively pursuing an ‘unsettled’ life — at least romantically — does not have the same ring to it.

In youth we call it rebellion and in midlife we call it crisis and in old age we call it cool because it is no longer intimidating but it all comes from the same place — a want that is never simple. A dream we don’t remember that remembers us.

And it is neither rebellion, crisis nor ‘cool’ to ditch one side of the bridge for the other. It is simply what happens when one longs for more. Or, perhaps less. But what happens when the longing is as loud for one side as it is for the other?

original image is Trixie on the Ladder by Nan Goldin

I have spent the bulk of my life contradicting myself, engaging in the hokey pokey turn yourself around wherein I say I want one thing and then lean toward another thing only to blow whatever the thing is up when my nervous system becomes an equally stubborn pair of boxers. In other words, my desire for both connection and autonomy has become a battle between two very opposing sides. A battle so violent that I have found myself in recent months attempting to sneak out the back door while my two opposing sides go at it — slamming doors on each other and anyone who tempts one side to go against the other.

How does one navigate want when her definitions are in opposition of one another? How does one exist between the two halves — one that longs for safety and care and one who feels endangered by the thought of it? Which voice is the correct one? Which warnings come from a place of knowing and is it possible that they are both right?