What Johnny’s heart has taught me

I’m enjoying this grey and rainy Saturday by listening to classical music and meditating. I am fighting every stress symptom by making breathing exercises and pushing away any negative thoughts. They don’t have a place in my mind. Nor do they live in my heart anymore. My poor little heart. It hasn’t had an easy life, but it is still beating, it’s still filled with all the red fire it was born to produce with every breath. So, it isn’t that damaged. I’ve never let any hate inside it. It’s never been completely drained.

My love affair with Johnny has been so good for my heart. He’s taught me so much about humility, self-compassion and love. I thought I knew everything there was to know about love. The passion. The all-consuming energy. The pain. The fear. The neglect and the rejection. But it turned out that I didn’t know much about love at all. Johnny has showed me how to build a home between two hearts, not only to keep each other company, but to create a whole new heart inside our home. Something which is breathing all by itself, something that has a heart, a mind and spirit but is invisible to the eye. Our love is not about passion or simple companionship, but a creation formed by mutual respect, caring and the way we see each other and appriciate what we see. Both each other’s many beauties and beasts. And we are completely naked in front of each other and ourselves. Vulnerability is the only place where all this is possible to experience. And I’m learning how to trust. How to let go of the fear to get hurt. To be fooled. Betrayed. And destroyed. I’m slowly learning how to move through this feeling of deep love without wanting to protect myself from it. That’s the naked part.


Johnny has showed me how important it is for me to see myself without looking for those eyes in other people. It’s been difficult for me to see myself without judging what I see. Without wondering if I’m enough. If I am lovable. Worthy of happiness. Before I let Johnny into  my heart I was in many ways a masochist. Looking for punishments. Humiliation. Darkness. Because I thought I belonged there. That I deserved it. He was there, in the beginning, holding my hand through other destructive love affairs with self-proclaimed victims that I wanted to rescue or mirrored myself through. I felt helpless and drained by those toxic connections. Johnny picked me up, every time I fell. He was always there for me – not because he wanted to be a hero, but because he actually cared about me.

I am softer now, to myself and to other people. Johnny’s gentle heart has inspired mine to be less rough and raw and to embrace empathy and tolerance. I was pretty brutal with my heart before. I wasted its blood, the beats and I let anyone stay in its rooms even though they didn’t deserve to be there at all.  I am starting to protect my heart without shutting out love and the warmth from people who truly deserves to be inside it. I am very grateful for having this wonderful man in my life and in my heart. We both give and take from the knowledge which our hearts have collected throughout our lives.  We share everything because it all feels important somehow. Even the smallest details. The nonsense. The everyday stuff that will be forgotten by tomorrow. But at least we got to share them with each other. It cures the loneliness of the heart. It creates a home where life is welcoming the insignificant moments as well as the significant ones Where everything has a meaning and is not wasted or taken for granted.

Endings and new beginnings

The last scene of Six Feet Under – with music by Sia: “Breathe Me”. A collection of endings.

It’s a new day. Spring is coloring my apartment in a pale blue light. I’m watching the last episode of Six Feet Under. I don’t like endings. Not even in TV series. But even so, endings have always resulted in something very positive in my life. Like the end is the first step into a new world, full of possibilities. I like new beginnings. Clean slates. Which of course goes hand in hand with endings.

After every crashed relationship, I’ve grown and flourished. After friendships gone sour, I’ve found a deeper understanding of how connections work. Letting go of a destructive entanglement with another person is liberating. Cutting off strings attached to a dark energy is healthy. There are so many ways for people to die and still be alive. It could be your own perception of them that dies when they reveal their true colors. They could lose themselves in various ways. To religion, to other people, to self doubt, to hopelessness and depression. They disappear from your heart and from your life.

When I think about the people in my life it’s like I’ve been a train station where people have come and gone in a flow of different energies. The only people who have always stayed with me throughout my whole life are my parents and Nanci, who’s been my best girlfriend for more than 20 years. I still talk to some other childhood friends but we’re not that close. The rest of them are gone in one way or another. Lovers. Friends. Colleagues.


Me and Nanci.

I’m always moving forward – like the land shark I told you about in an earlier post. I’ve met some amazing people on my journey. And some dark and poisonous souls. I think they have all rubbed off on me – for better or worse. They’ve all helped me shape my inner mythology.

In the last few years I’ve met some of the most beautiful people. I’ve made new friends who feel like they are part of a family somehow. A family I’ve put together myself. New brothers. Sisters. Mentors. Muses. And then I fell in love with my best friend Johnny, who had been there for me throughout other crashed connections and painful mistakes during 3 of the most difficult years of my life. He was always there for me during all my fragile attempts to look for momentarily thrills elsewhere – which always destroyed me somehow. His unconditional love has been a safe haven for me. A place to heal. A place where I am never judged or punished. A place of freedom. Where I am allowed to be myself without feeling awkward and wrong in my most vulnerable moments of fear and freak outs.


The concept of a lasting connection almost feels foreign to me. I feel vulnerable when I think about it. I know It’s a trust thing. I have to trust myself to surround myself with trustworthy people. I have to trust those people not to hurt me or betray me, something I’m way too used to. I have to trust life to be kind to me from now on. I am looking for lasting connections. I’m looking for things that moves with me instead of me growing out of them. I want a home that doesn’t crumble or falls apart. A home that’s isn’t an illusion of safety. Or an illusion of love. A home without a ghost.

All of those painful endings led me to this place where I am free to build whatever I want for myself. New connections. New boundaries. New rules. A new home. A new life. But I won’t forget the tears that brought me here. After all, water is the birthplace to every new life. Even in my paintings, I’m mixing the colors with water to bring new life to an empty canvas. I am deeply grateful for what I have in my life right now. And it was all born out of something painful that died and got buried in time – which created a space for a new life. To live.


Just like in the very last scene of Six Feet Under where Claire drives off in her avocado green hearse to start a new life for herself someplace else, after a painful goodbye to her old life and the people in it. Endings are bittersweet. And new beginnings are awfully exciting and scary. And so fucking amazing.