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The Journey, On Tape
by Daliya Karnofksy
When asked to write a follow-up to my monologue, I decided to give it a view, since I hadn’t seen it in a while. Of the two versions I found, one was of the very first time I did the monologue. I was freshly-married and waving my ring around joyously as I told my story and realized I was funny, and worthy of being loved.
The second version was about a year and a half later. I was a lot thinner from stress, no ring anywhere, and carrying the cool distance of someone who had loved and lost.
My performance was much more engaging in the first one, if a bit sloppy. How open I was! How free and excited. I was falling in love with myself as a solo performer for the first time in much the same way I had fallen in love with my soldier. No holds barred, juicing for laughs and bathing in the attention. Shocked by the positive response.
In the second video, my performance is tighter. I obviously know what I’m doing; I have carefully choreographed my movements and know when to hold for the laughs. I expect the love, and yet feel I don’t deserve it.
At this point in time I was ending a long-term relationship that began shortly after the end of my marriage. It was round two of love for me, and I was losing again. So while I was more polished, I struggled for the joy and was far less engaging. I just didn’t want to get too close to the story I was telling. My mouth was moving but my heart stayed where it belonged.
In both of these relationships I was the one who technically ended it, but that didn’t make it any easier, because each time I felt like a failure. Yes, I married too young, and we were not right for each other. He didn’t want me to be an actress, and I had to follow my dream. But why couldn’t I just hold it together? There was no point in asking why I had gotten married. I don’t regret what I did. I needed to know if we belonged together.
At one point during our marriage, I remember my husband turning to me as we walked down our street on a summer night, and telling me were “zeevoog,” a Hebrew word that means soulmates. At that moment it felt as if we were. Sometimes I still think we may be, but we found each other in the wrong place and the wrong time, and “zeevoog” just wasn’t enough. I considered staying with him until it was the right place and time. When I’m thirty-five, I thought, I’ll really appreciate the security. But in that moment I knew that if I just waited to be happy for the next eleven years until I was thirty-five, all it would turn into was a bunch of resentment and whatever “zeevoog” we had would be long gone.
So we split, and I dove headlong into another relationship, to seal up my wounds and convince myself I was capable of doing it. Since my husband had been my first love, I just needed to know I hadn’t blown my one and only chance. Everyone told me not to jump into anything, just like everyone told me not to get married. Try as I might to keep some distance and re-establish my independence, it was so much easier to feel loved and needed and become half of a couple again. I know it doesn’t have to be one or the other. Or that’s what I’m told, though I haven’t quite figured it out for myself yet.
Of course, after about a year of that, my heart revolted again, saying it wasn’t ready, and really, where was my independence? I kept putting my own dreams aside and blaming it on the person I was with. It was his fault I wasn’t writing, his fault I didn’t make it to yoga in the morning or develop better eating habits. I grew angry and resentful all over again, when I had promised not to. I was kicking and screaming to get out, and it was no secret to him. I treated him badly and he put up with it, and was not surprised when I ended it.
Only I was surprised at how bad it felt this time. I had my freedom again; wasn’t I happy? No one was holding me back, keeping me from what I truly wanted. Then why did I feel so alone, and scared, and so much like a failure? I am coming closer to the realization that the people I choose to be with have absolutely nothing to do with whether or not I achieve my dreams. Every decision I make is entirely my own. They are there to support and love me, and that is why I am there for them. They are not there to force me to do what I love or make sure my needs are being met. Only I can do that.
I recently performed my monologue after some time away, now two and a half years after the first time, and I imagine if it had been filmed, I would have again seen a different performance. The cool distance was gone but the self-confidence remained, as I was willing to admit this time that I loved him and I was sad when the marriage ended. And yes, I felt like a failure. The first step is admitting these feelings, and choosing to learn from them instead of wallowing in them. I loved the best way that I could, and then realized that would never be enough if I didn’t take the time to love myself by tending to my own needs. The pursuit of my dreams doesn’t end because someone is lying next to me tempting me to sleep in; I just have to kiss them on the forehead and jump out of bed, ready to greet the day on my own.
Photo by eivindw, licensed under Creative Commons.
Tags: Israel, love, marriage, relationships
2 Responses to “The Journey, On Tape”
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This version is as spellbinding as the one two years ago! While more sophisticated — both the performance and the actress — the energy and excitement and luminosity of new love is still there. Great to see the wondrously expressive gestures so well highlighted! Hard to say which is more captivating–those briliantly eloquent hands or lovely, protean face, complimenting the beautifully told story.
Please send us notices/links/videos of any future performances.
Gotta watch out for those soldiers and guards – most of them are looking for a green card. I have a handful of friends who went on BR and later married a guard/soldier. All of their marriages lasted roughly 3 years, just enough time for them to get their card.