hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?
hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].
but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.
it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.
and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.
the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.
an emptiness, like you said.
but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.
you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.
he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.
but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.
how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.
the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.
think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.
i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.
but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one.
wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.
as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛
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When watching, it’s hard not to feel like you capture intricacies and truths about gender and sexuality in a way a cisgender director wouldn’t or couldn’t. How did your own experience inform the filmmaking here?
You don’t understand how fucking painful it was to get this made and how long, and to hear you say this is so validating. It was a seven-year journey to get to set. I transitioned throughout the making of this movie. I was so desperate to get it made because I thought it would be an answer to me continuing to pretend and avoid the truth of who I am. There was a moment that I realized that the thing that was holding me back was that very thing of, “Oh, shit, we have so many false starts around this.” The universe was waiting for me to walk through my truth, so I could be ready to tell this story. If you look at my work prior, it’s so angry. It’s so violent. This story required a gentle lens rooted in nothing but love. Had I not gone through the same journey that Ari goes through in the book and in the movie, I wouldn’t have been able to lens this the way that it is now.
And for you to recognize that… (Pauses.) It would have been impossible because my perspective of the world hadn’t been opened up until I was ready to walk through my truth. That’s a fact. That’s why it fucking took so long. My producer [Valerie Stadler] who saw me, who was with me, at first she was like, “You’re not ready to direct this,” and I was like, “What do you mean I’m not fucking ready to direct this? I’m ready to direct it.” And when I made that decision, she said, “OK, now you’re ready.” I think she saw something in me that I hadn’t seen in myself. This will forever be the most pure, personal experience of my life for all of those reasons. It stood by me, and it mirrored my trajectory as a creative and, honestly, as a human being. So yeah, I agree with you. I don’t think that a cisgender person would have been able to capture the nuances the way that I did.
Understanding a deep longing to be close to someone of the same gender in a world that doesn’t model what that looks like can be difficult because you don’t have the language or feel safe to name it. Can you talk about your approach to portraying that?
I have this very important mission to refuse to other myself and to other the stories that I’m involved in, and to other the characters that I bring to life. That is very important to me. At the root of this, Ari never claims his sexuality, but he claims his love for Dante. That was what was most important for me. How does love transcend in a way that we don’t need to explain it, but we can see how painful it is when the world around you tells you that you’re wrong for who you are, for how you feel, where you don’t find yourself or see yourself in something else?
It took me 34 years to transition. I thought about my identity, my gender, every single day for those 34 years. But I grew up in a culture and a society that told me I was wrong for feeling that. I want people to watch this and be assured that they’re OK for feeling the way that they feel. It’s possible to love gently and without question. Sometimes you do need someone to give you permission to do that. That’s what this story is. It’s hopefully giving permission for people to see themselves as not an “other,” but as an expansive human that’s possible at anything when you choose love over fear. Fear is rooted in shame, which is what held me back.
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From a narrative perspective I really prefer to believe that everything Deacon tells you in his final affinity talk is true, because 1. Even though he cares about the rest of the Railroad, it’s clear you’re the only person he’s gotten close to in a long time, and 2. It’s as real as he ever gets with you in-game, showing an unprecedented amount of trust (and causing you to question just how much of an act he’s putting on before and henceforth). But I’m newly charmed by the idea that every part of his story was true… except his wife just isn’t dead.
Yeah she’s totally fine. They found out she was a synth 15-16 years ago, and it was pretty traumatic but they’re all good now. He took out the UP Deathclaws, not out of vengeance, but just because they were too much of a threat to leave alone. The Railroad got the wrong idea and Deacon just went with it. Even if someone’s trustworthy, the Institute has ways of getting information from people, so it’s just better to act like she doesn’t exist, y’know? They miss each other, but she knows his work is important, she runs a small farm or business and financially supports him.
Deacon does make a comment about having people to protect after you use his “recall code.” And I think it puts a funny spin on why he’s not romanceable — he’s just Actively In Holy Matrimony.
Maybe just south of the Commonwealth, there’s a nice farmgirl with suspiciously lasting youth, whose neighbors gossip about how often she swaps out her lovers (who, come to think of it, all share the same height, build, and penchant for shades…). And I don’t know her name, but I can tell you it probably isn’t Barbara.
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