Navigating Heartbreak Series 3/5: Embracing Sadness

In January, the girl I love broke up with me after 9 years of being together. We had a loving, comfortable, understanding relationship. But she found out something about herself that she needed to explore, so I had to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, to date: I lovingly and understandingly stepped out of the way as she broke up with me to pursue another romantic relationship. Holy fuck, does that hurt a lot to type right now, but I know that it was the right thing to do. This person who means the world to me is self-actualizing, and I want her to love and know herself the way I love and know her. It would be unfathomably selfish of me not to want that for her. In short: I am happy for her, but sad for me.

In fact, I’ve never been sadder than I have been in the last 3 1/2 months of my life. I’ve run the gamut of the 5 Stages of Grief, and I still find myself bouncing back and forth between them daily. The sadness feels insurmountable, sometimes. Lately, I’ve been leaning pretty heavily on friends and some family to help me through it, and boy are they a godsend. Particularly the ones who have told me that it’s okay to be sad.

“If you weren’t sad/anxious about this, you would be the weirdest person ever. You’re physically going through withdrawal and a dramatic lifestyle change. But imagine this process without those emotions for a moment as though they don’t exist. [Is there anything] unhealthy about how you’re dealing with it?
—A text from one of my closest friends

When I got to thinking about it, no. There hasn’t been an unhealthy thing that I’ve done throughout this whole arduous process. I might have done a little bit of social media stalking early on, but once I realized that it was doing nothing but hurt me, I quickly staged a self-intervention and logged out of all accounts that I could follow her on. Other than that, I’ve grieved with close friends, I’ve started this blog, I’ve written in a journal, I’ve written music, I’ve buried myself in hobbies… I’ve done basically everything to keep myself occupied, because the biggest obstacle for me is time. Time is the fucking worst. I know I definitely want to be her friend in time, but I know that the only way for that to be a reality is for me to get over this sadness. I can’t be her friend if every one of our interactions is emotionally volatile like they have been, lately. And that makes me even sadder.

Spoiler alert: no one likes being sad. But I’ve come to accept that sadness is okay. That doesn’t mean I like it, by any stretch of the word. But sadness means I’m still capable of happiness. In her TED Talk about vulnerability, Brené Brown says:

We live in a vulnerable world. And one of the ways we deal with it is we numb vulnerability...the problem is: you can not selectively numb emotion...you can't say 'here's the bad stuff...I don't want to feel these...'

You can't numb those hard feelings without numbing the other emotions...when we numb [negative emotions], we numb joy, we numb gratitude, we numb happiness...and then we are miserable...

You are imperfect and you are wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging....practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror when we're wondering 'can I love you this much? Can I believe in this as passionately?' ...Stop catastrophizing what might happen and say 'I'm just so grateful.' Because to feel this vulnerable means I am alive.

—Brené Brown, “The power of vulnerability” TED Talk

SPOILER ALERT FOR INSIDE OUT

If you haven’t seen Inside Out yet, you should definitely give it a watch. The point the movie makes is that sadness is integral to our experience as human beings, and it is a healthy, expected response to trauma. Being sad sucks. But it’s normal. You shouldn’t beat yourself up for being sad over something. Allow yourself to be sad. It’s all a part of the process of healing. Most of all, don’t be afraid of sadness. Because if you try to avoid the possibility of being sad, you also avoid the possibility of being truly happy.

And we all deserve to be truly happy.

Continue to Navigating Heartbreak Series 4/5 »

Navigating Heartbreak Series 2/5: Behind the lyrics of "HAPPY4U"

One of the most frequent pieces of advice I’ve gotten throughout this heartbreak of mine is to bury myself in things I’d always wanted to do. To try and think past the hurt and remember what I liked to do before it all happened. Well, at the center of my person is a writer, artist, and musician. I’ve always wanted to write a song, perform it, and do something with it. So when NPR announced their annual Tiny Desk Contest, I knew I wanted to enter it with a guitarist friend of mine. I’d known that he had a chord progression he was fond of, so I wrote some lyrics over the course of a few days, hit him up on a Thursday, we had our first rehearsal on that Saturday, and did our first screen test that night. Fast forward to last night (the following Wednesday), and we put the above video together with the help of a videographer friend. You can see our submission here.

Shit, now that I read that back to myself, we created a whole-ass song in under two weeks. I wonder if that’s par for the course in the music industry? Idk. All I know right now is that art—and writing, in particular—has always brought me catharsis. This song has brought exactly that for me when I needed it most. Anyway, what I wanted to do was explain how I came up with the lyrics for the song—if for nobody else, just so that I can write it down and see it unfold in front of my own eyes. Here goes:

Happy For You
By Interstate Eighty
Lyrics by Alex Basa
Guitar by Chris Clark

Verse
Hi there, stranger! Are you broken just like me?
Have you come into this building seeking heartbreak therapy?
Did the man down in the lobby greet you using your last name?
Did he know which floor you needed and say “Elevator A”?

People only come here when the sadness is too much.
Do you wake into your nightmares? Does your life fucking suck?
I’m sorry if that sounded forward, or if it sounded rude.
I don’t know how to flirt with girls; can I try with you?

Wait! Don’t go. I know that’s why you’re here,
But like the last girl that I loved, you’ll be leaving me in tears.
Now, I’m alone. Just like every other day.
And since the doctor picked you first, I have something to say:

Unsurprisingly, the inspiration for this song actually came from a therapy session I had. In fact, the whole song takes place in the therapists’ waiting room on the 10th floor of 388 Pine Street in San Francisco. Maybe you missed it, but there’s a bit of angst hidden in the lyrics of the song. I remember walking into the building before one of my sessions, and the man behind the counter in the lobby actually recognized me, knew which floor to send me to, and told me the elevator to take. At that point, I knew that meant I had gone through enough therapy sessions that reception was able to pick me out in a crowd. I wouldn’t say I was embarrassed, per se, but it definitely did not make me feel super great. It’s a good thing I was headed into a therapy session…

The literal elevator that inspired that lyric.

Anyway, I was sitting alone in suite 1010 when this girl walked in. She flipped her therapist’s switch—which was right next to the switch I’d flipped when I came in—and sat down in a chair in the opposite corner of the room, as far away from me as the 8’x8’ box would allow. She was actually kinda cute, and my love-starved brain’s first thought was “I wonder if we’d be compatible? I should say hello.” My immediate next thought was “what the fuck is your problem, dude? She’s in a therapist’s office trying to get over something. She does not want to be flirted with right now.”

Eventually, her therapist came to the door to let her into the second area (where all the therapists’ offices are), and I was left sitting in my shame and sorrow. What a fucking dumb, pathetic, jackass thought that was—no matter how brief.

Chorus
I’m happy for you.
So damn happy for you.
Really I’m happy for you.
Sad for me, but happy for you.

Okay, fun fact: the chorus (and title of the song) sort of started out as a snide tweet I made when Justin Bieber announced his engagement to Hailey Baldwin some time ago. I joked that I was eagerly awaiting Selena Gomez’s future hit-song “Happy For You.”

Obviously, that song never came, but I really liked the idea behind a melancholy song that wrestled with the complex emotional state of being happy for someone, but sad for yourself. Little did I know that I’d be using it for myself in a little under a year, lol.

Verse
I open my phone getting sadder as I swipe.
I didn’t pay them so that means this app paid for my life.
They’re cashing in on carnal cravings: a parasitic plot.
Dating apps don’t work because I’m cute, but I’m not hot.

I still feel the ghost of the ring I used to wear:
A poignant, persistent reminder that you aren’t there.
And my entire life is something that I would have shared.
I fucking hate the fact that I will always fucking care.

No. That’s not true. It’s not something that I mean.
Any vitriolic lamentations I say are obscene.
In the future when the pain subsides I hope we reconvene,
And as your friend I hope you know this one important thing:

Chorus
I’m happy for you.
So damn happy for you.
Really, I’m happy for you.
Sad for me, but happy for you.

This verse is inspired by something that I’ve come to rue since having downloaded them at all: dating apps. I originally downloaded them to feel like I had some control over my situation, but they were only fun for all of like, 20 minutes. The ensuing days (and weeks) of using them just began to gross me out more and more as one point became all the more salient to me: I’m a kid in a candy store with the wrong kind of currency.

Even the most optimized dating apps cater to a single, primal human desire, and that’s finding an attractive mate. Nobody really gives a fuck how much you like dogs, how funny you think The Office is, or how sarcasm is “like, totally your second language.” If you’re not a 9/10 in the face+body department, you might as well be swiping right and left on paint swatches at your local hardware store. Me? Conservatively, I’m probably like a 7/10 on looks alone. Hence the lyric: “dating apps don’t work because I’m cute, but I’m not hot.”

Have you ever heard the phrase “if you’re not paying for it, then you’re the product”? A really good, sickening example is how nightclubs will charge guys a cover fee, but let girls in for free. Dating apps are a lot like that. My female friend told me about how she was getting certain “complimentary” perks from the “premium versions” of certain apps—”trial periods” of the full service the apps provided. That shit never happened for me, lol. And even if you exclude that bias, when you realize that these apps are making money by means of a superficial swiping gallery, it’s just a little bit depressing. I realized that every time I sized up a potential mate, I would read her short bio (if she had one), and I would compare that brief snippet of information to the 9 year long relationship that I’d just been forced to exit. Naturally, there can be absolutely no comparison, and every “candidate” just made me realize more and more that none of them were the person I really wanted.

Which brings me to the second stanza in the second verse—and perhaps the one that hurts me most day to day: “I still feel the ghost of the ring I used to wear: a poignant persistent reminder that you aren’t there.”

I’ve worn a “promise” ring on my left hand for the last nine years. Ask anyone who frequently makes use of a cell phone, or watch, or any sort of everyday-carry object how they feel when that object isn’t on their person. They’ll tell you that they feel “naked” without it. When you don’t feel that object, there’s a slight moment of panic as your body instinctively searches for its familiarity. Multiple times a day, I find myself feeling like something is missing from my left ring finger—because something is. And every time I do that unconscious freakout, there’s no sense of relief that follows it. All that follows is the reminder that she’s gone.

It’s frustrating beyond measure when your own body betrays you like that. I want to cut off my finger to teach it a lesson for constantly telling me what I don’t want to hear. Sometimes that frustration ratchets up to anger and resent that extends in all directions, including at the woman I love so dearly. Fortunately, I’m pretty good at reeling back those visceral emotions when they flare up. I’ve tried to approach this whole experience with love and understanding, because I do care about her and want her to be happy. I’ve supported her through undergrad, grad school, and everything few and far between. I want to support her, now. But it hurts. There’s no way I can just jump into caring about her solely platonically right now. Maybe in time. But it’s the time that kills me.

Verse
It’s not me, the one you love, and that I must accept.
But darling, over you, I’ve wept.
The songs that I love paint a portrait of what we were
And I can’t listen to them without crying, that’s for sure.

Maybe this is fine. Maybe it’s what we needed.
But I regret the day you left and that I had conceded.
There’s not a thing that I won’t do for you and that you know.
I guess that means right now, I’ve gotta let you go.

So I’ll be fine in time, don’t mind the way I write these rhymes.
Out of this hole you’ve dug for me I’m certain I will climb.
I even might forgive the piece of shit that did me wrong,
But for now, trust the words of this melancholy song:

Chorus
I’m happy for you.
So damn happy for you.
Really, I’m happy for you.
Sad for me, but happy for you.

Solo section

I feel like this section needs the least amount of context to understand well. She loves someone else. I think the angriest line in the entire song is in this verse, though: “I even might forgive the piece of shit that did me wrong.”

So, I like to refer to my performance as “the character,” here. Because I’m not as resentful as I’m portraying in the song. Yes, that was definitely a thought that I had. The person I got left for 100% flirted with, courted, and eventually crossed a bunch of physical boundaries with my then-girlfriend, knowing that she was in a committed relationship. And you can argue that it takes two to tango, but the actual situation is a bit more complicated than that. What I’m trying to get at here is that…

I don’t know. Fuck it. Maybe I am that angry. I’m allowed to be angry. But I’ve never acted on that anger in an unhealthy way. I’ve never been prohibitive or nasty towards the two of them. Maybe the nastiest thing I’ve done is write that line into the song. But you know what, I don’t owe either of them any more courtesy than I’ve already given them. I’m reclaiming my life and sanity in the only way I know how: by making art.

Wow, okay, that was a bit of a tangential rant…. Anyway, the last thing that I wanted to talk about is how we chose to end the song. Chris and I went back and forth between abruptly ending it in the middle of the chord progression (symbolizing the jarring and abrupt way my relationship ended, from my perspective), ending it on the last chord in a nice, open resolve (symbolizing the end of this chapter in my life), and ending it on the fade out—which is what we went with. We chose this way because we felt that it represented the most optimistic truth of this entire sad song: just like the chords of the song, life goes on, and so will I.

Anyway, thanks for listening. A few people have reached out and told me a bunch of really nice things about the song—the most touching for me is that people have said they were able to relate to the lyrics. They say misery needs company, and if we were able to give someone the chance to commiserate with us, then we accomplished our goal of making some great art.

In short, if the song made you feel good, then I’m happy 4 u <3

Continue to Navigating Heartbreak Series 3/5 »

Oh, we called ourselves “Interstate Eighty” because both of us live along that interstate. That’s pretty much it.

Navigating Heartbreak Series 1/5: The Surfer Analogy

I am not a surfer, but as a writer, I have an undying love for analogies, and one of my friends recently introduced me to an analogy that I feel perfectly encapsulates the experience of going through a heartbreak—something that I am currently going through at 26 years old. For context, my recent breakup was a relationship that was 9 years long, with someone who I’ve known for about half my life. There was no vitriol or bad blood between us. In fact, we had a very steady, healthy relationship. For me, its end was a literal night-and-day surprise—but that’s a blog post for another time. Some day, when it hurts less, I know we will be friends again. Anyway, onto the analogy…

Here, the obstruction happens to be the shallows of a shoreline. Pictured on the right is what’s called a “beach break.”

First, it helps to understand what a "breaking wave" is: for lay-people—like myself—it's what we normally think of when someone says "wave," even though “wave” is a general term to describe all types of water currents. A “breaking wave” is that beautiful, crescent-shaped tunnel of water that people surf, which is created by an accelerating undercurrent meeting an obstruction, sending the current upwards, and causing the wave to “break” the surface and crest in that iconic fashion. Typically, advanced surfers can recognize several different types of "breaks" just by looking at them, whether they were caused by a reef, the shoreline, or otherwise.

My friend told me that every surfer has experienced falling off their board while riding a break and getting caught in it. Supposedly, the first time it happens, it's a harrowing experience—you're freaking out trying to surface while being tossed around by the current. Eventually, the break passes, you're able to rise above the waterline, and you can take a breath.

But often, another break is right behind you, which crashes over your head, dragging you under once again, restarting the whole horrific experience.

He says going through heartbreak is a lot like getting stuck in a cycle of breaks. Sometimes you'll have a moment to breathe, and you feel like everything will be okay, then the next wave crests over your head and you feel like you're drowning all over again. Rinse, wash, repeat.

But the thing is, eventually—as long as you keep swimming—the waves will wash you ashore. But you have to keep swimming, and never give up. I’m currently (hah—”currently”) doing my best not drown in my own sorrow and misery. I’m burying myself in the love of my friends and family. I’m trying to do the things that I know I used to enjoy. Most importantly, I’m trying. And I’m trying harder than I’ve ever tried to do anything in my life, before.

I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, and I don’t know if there’s a “right” way to do it, but I know there are a bunch of wrong ways to do it; I’m trying my best to wade away from those. I don’t know if what makes me feel good today will still make me feel good tomorrow, but that’s a problem for tomorrow-Alex.

Today-Alex just has to get there.

So for now, I’m channeling my inner-Dory, and I’m going to just keep swimming.

Continue to Navigating Heartbreak Series 2/5 »

You’re headed towards shore, kiddo. All you have to do is make it.