foreign territory

I have found that the familial relationships in one’s life are some of the most peculiar and the most dysfunctional. Friends of similar connection and who may treat you with similar disregard might be told to hit the road or might become merely a mirage in our theoretical mirrors as we travel farther down our road away from them. This is not always true with family where bonds can hang by a thread yet somehow remain sustained and nourished enough for us to not lose title and a place in the family unit.

My brother and I have shared such a life for many years. I came into the world hindered by the nine years he already had on me. This says nothing about all of the myriad personality differences than became evident early on, even though we did have some periods of bonding over musical tastes and filmic interest. There’s not much more to share in together these days with hundreds of miles between us figuratively and literally.

As painful as the expectation that I will never have the sort of brother relationship “they” stack films, books, and television with, there are occasional glimmers of subtle change. The other night we were chatting on one of the on-line chat options and things felt somehow different.

As expected, things began roughly like the interactions between two people who encounter one another in a downtown plaza after many years apart. Perhaps the first strains of conversation have eloquence and excitement to it, but it doesn’t take long before the two people seem to run out of things to say no matter how much life has passed by. This is how things began for me. I wasn’t sure what to say or what to ask. Everything felt like an empty slate in certain ways. There was a foreign nature to the entire situation. I was reminded how little we really know about each other.

The wheels began churning with talk of his many children and I began to open up about some of the creative endeavors I have my dirty little fingers in. And it seemed that the only real commonalities we have are our steadily aging parents who recently dropped by for a brief visit. They were in their usual form, rubbing in their one foot in the grave status. This never comes off as some mid-sixties clarity about life and mortality, but instead as emo with an aged patina. They have been brooding in this way for years.

What really surprised was an unexpected interest in some of my artistic projects I have on the horizon. They have rarely diverted from their original “hope this is a phase” mentality, so as years have toiled on an upswing in interest and supportiveness always catches me off guard. I don’t know what to do with it. I know how to work with the resistance of the world and those in the presumed inner circle, but what do I do with an open door. My brother suggested I embrace it. I have to wonder what makes it worth it to just ride one of my waves when a small group of others have been by my side for the whole trip and should be the only ones who should bask in my positivity, or at least that’s how it appears right now.

At any rate, I found myself sharing things with my brother that I would not have normally. It was interesting and telling. As the conversation went along, I started to recognize how this – this instant messaging – might be the perfect forum for us to connect in some small way. With the distance and the conflicting lifestyle choices, in person seems unlikely. E-mailing tends to be much too inconsistent. Phone calling is completely out what with all of the uncertainty and quiet and impatience to hang up that tends to swell up within me. However, these words scrolling across the screen actually felt like a representation of both of us making an effort to hear the other.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s something. Or maybe I just want it to be.