Okay, sorry to put that Ace of Base song in your head. I still like it. (Their ditty about wanting another baby was catchy too but came off as creepy. As if that’s the solution to the lonely life she leads.)
Focus. Signs.
Surely it’s not just me who feels that, when something specific happens in life, there is suddenly an online article or a TV news item especially for them. Many items! Perfect timing…uncanny. It’s like my first year teaching seventh grade and, as I was preparing a unit on Ancient Egypt, all sorts of articles popped up on the subject. Magazine covers even. (Remember magazines? Sigh. The ancient pyramids outlasted them.) It was somewhere around 1996 and there was no reason for Ancient Egypt to be trending. Heck, “trending” wasn’t even a thing. Still, the topic emerged all around me. Thank you, universe and, I guess, Osiris.
It was clearly a sign. So glad I hadn’t chosen the Mayans instead.
Yes, I know the rational explanation is that I was looking for information on Ancient Egypt. It's reasonable to surmise the general public has an enduring fascination with King Tut, the Sphinx and mummies. I hadn’t been paying attention before because I didn’t need to. I’d been preoccupied listening to “I Believe I Can Fly” by R. Kelly (back when it was okay to listen to his music), talking too much about nothing (aka, Seinfeld) and wishing someone would say to me, “You had me at ‘hello’,” or, if not that, I could say to someone, “Show me the money!”
Earlier in the ’90s, there was a movie starring Steve Martin and Sarah Jessica Parker called L.A. Story which I’ve always liked, if not loved, because it both spoofed Los Angeles and served as an homage. The movie featured the changing electronic road signs on L.A.’s notoriously backed-up freeways as the equivalent to a recurring character. Rather than saying there was an accident on the 405 with the left lane closed, the signs kept sending Steve Martin messages. I don’t have that sort of connection with freeway signs.
Signs are all around us all the time. We just notice what’s relevant to our present circumstance.
And so, as I navigated the world anew after my two-year relationship ended, I saw messages in such things as murals, graffiti and a neon sign that had long been present. A few captured my feelings, some mocked, others nudged me to get over it.
Enough time has passed that they all make me smile. Most of the time.
Here’s a photo tour of the signs that spoke to me:
Before this latest relationship, I’d never understood what gaslighting was about. I’d read explanations and still didn’t get it. Regardless, I always liked this sign, perched high on one of my favorite old buildings in downtown Vancouver. It stings now. Yes, I was gaslit. While breaking up, he said I was only in it for fun and adventure. Total BS. I’d been through so much with him. I’d listened, advised and supported. Gladly. That’s what makes a relationship stronger. Or so I thought. It felt especially dismissive to be told I was all about hikes and tracking down new coffee spots, things that, yes, I enjoy, but had nothing to do with the heart of us.
This graffiti offered the sentiment many strive for when it’s over. Relief! Renewal! Good riddance! I wanted to embrace the message, but I couldn’t. I hadn’t been the one seeking freedom. His sign of victory, perhaps; not mine.
This sign popped up in an empty storefront a week ago. It feels it’s my takeaway from the entire relationship. He emphasized our differences. Differences were problems: from what kind of sauce I liked on my pasta to my preference to running over yoga; from the fact I wore what he always called “ath-leisure” instead of leather to the fact I would have been happy to read while he watched a zombie flick; from my comfort as an introvert to his need to be around people. I always said, “You be you.” I meant it. He couldn’t say the same to me. I still think a cornerstone of a mature relationship is about common values more than common interests. It’s about understanding and respecting differences instead of seeking a clone.
This graffiti still fits. I dreamed big for us. I dreamed far into the future. I dreamed forever. I still feel foolish.
This graffiti burned when I first saw it. More? I’d loved all I could. Not enough. Now when I look at this, I try to reframe it: Love Again. Maybe. Maybe not. I hear the Rolling Stones in my head: “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” It’s all right. Or, at least, it is what it is.
This taunt came this past weekend in Portland. A café intentionally named itself Never Coffee to undersell its main offering. Yes, Portland, you are weird. As I sat and wrote at a corner table, I got a final dose of reality regarding the relationship that was. Flatlined. No hope for resuscitation. A succinct, repetitive display saved me from shelling out money to a fortune teller. Any possibility for a second chance? “Never.” More in tune with Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” or En Vogue’s “My Lovin’ (You’re Never Gonna Get It)” than the nothing-will-break-us view in Heart’s “Never.”
Ouch. Okay then. Signs seen. Messages delivered. As summer nears, I’m ready for a shift to signs about Pride, farmers’ markets and even pesky orange notices about construction for the next five miles. Personal impacts, yes, but on an entirely different plane.
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