I'm having a pretty rough summer so far, missing my faeries.
I knew it would be hard to give up Bristol and the Fantastickals, but you never really know how hard something will be until you're in it. I've dealt with the loneliness of missing friends and family out here (and am still dealing with it everyday), but the particular loneliness of missing Faire is something separate.
Nine years ago, when I started doing Bristol, I had no friends. I have never been a person who makes friends easily; I keep to myself and don't let many people in. I'm not naturally gregarious or outgoing, and I don't really enjoy many social settings. When I started Bristol, I was enveloped in this nurturing environment and suddenly developed this huge circle of people around me. I was a part of something big, and I was loved and accepted.
Becoming a faery was a huge journey for me, as I've written extensively about on this blog. It was more than a physical transformation, much more, and setting it aside to come to California was difficult. But, I don't think I fully appreciated how difficult until now. Seeing the pictures starting to pop up on Facebook and the web cuts like a knife in a very deep part of me, and I feel divided from something that fulfilled me. A lot of people would say that I'm on to bigger and better things, but it doesn't really feel like that right now: it feels like being out in a huge place all alone, unhappy, treading water and waiting for things to get better.
I knew I would reach this point around now; it's been six months, and I warned my BFF B that when I got to this place and said "I shouldn't have come out here, I want to come home", that he was supposed to tell me no. I know I need to stick it out and hold on for better times. But I wake up each Monday with a stone in my heart, wondering why I'm here when the threads of my life are somewhere else.
I remember Sunday afternoons at Bristol. There was a quiet time some weekends, just before the joust ended. The Faery Glen was uncrowded, and you could sit against a tree, lean your head back against the bark, and just let the world wash over you. Yes, it could be sticky and hot and tiring; some patrons were rude, some days it was so crowded you could barely move and hardly think. But, I remember now the incredible moments of silence and grace, the wonderful children and moving experiences. The friends.
This weekend I sat inside, watching DVDs and writing. But mostly, I was wishing I was somewhere else.
Extra credit: the title is Gaelic: "Long is the peaceful day".