Curiosity Roving : V.26 : Lone Star
Curiosity Roving
The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen
V.26 : Lone Star
in which we surrender to change
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Greetings and Salutations!
Welcome to the twenty-sixth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention.
In the time since my last letter, I have been out and about in Austin, Texas. I've been to the Capitol and to Campbell's Hole, to the Shiner Saloon and Dirty Martin's 97-year-old burger joint. I found the Yellow Rose of Texas at the end of my street - it's a strip club - and I heard gunshots from the adjacent construction site. I've been to three art nights at Highland Collective, to the Commerce Gallery of Lockhart, and to the Shrine of Colette Club. I've been catcalled on 6th Street. I partied on every level of the Neon Grotto and gave myself a butt blister rocking the courtyard horses at Mama Dearest. I picked up four days of work as a keyboardist with the Goddamn Comedy Jam at Moontower Comedy Festival, learned thirty songs in five days (some of them by sauna osmosis) and delivered not only an entire evening of Billy Joel (Scenes From An Italian Restaurant inclusive) but also the Bohemian Rhapsody singalong with which we closed the event. I sweat through a weeklong free trial at Corepower Yoga. I took in a concert at Emo's featuring Jessy Lanza and Yaeji, and was abundantly satisfied to see a lineup of all-female artists dominating a night of music. I let a comedian pour me a bottomless coffee on a chilly Sunday morning. I applied for the oddest jobs that Austin Craigslist has to offer. I bathed in the humid hipster ambience of ten thousand Edison bulbs. I splashed with the divers of Barton Springs and dined in the darkest corner of Casa De Luz. I opened a dating app for the first time in four years and met a number of handsome, articulate, witty, adventurous people for coffee, drinks, dance classes, and other City Things. I've stacked up hugs and high-fives with three more old friends from Taiwan. I wrote twenty-odd poems and my first song since 2020. My recycled phone number landed me in a family chat with eighteen people who welcomed me as their new cousin. I celebrated my thirty-third birthday on May 1st, and one of my bar-none best and closest VIPs departed this world on the very same day.
I could write about Texas - believe me, I have stories - but my heart isn't here, and no story compares to the legend of us.
In the time since my last letter, I have been out and about in Austin, Texas. I've been to the Capitol and to Campbell's Hole, to the Shiner Saloon and Dirty Martin's 97-year-old burger joint. I found the Yellow Rose of Texas at the end of my street - it's a strip club - and I heard gunshots from the adjacent construction site. I've been to three art nights at Highland Collective, to the Commerce Gallery of Lockhart, and to the Shrine of Colette Club. I've been catcalled on 6th Street. I partied on every level of the Neon Grotto and gave myself a butt blister rocking the courtyard horses at Mama Dearest. I picked up four days of work as a keyboardist with the Goddamn Comedy Jam at Moontower Comedy Festival, learned thirty songs in five days (some of them by sauna osmosis) and delivered not only an entire evening of Billy Joel (Scenes From An Italian Restaurant inclusive) but also the Bohemian Rhapsody singalong with which we closed the event. I sweat through a weeklong free trial at Corepower Yoga. I took in a concert at Emo's featuring Jessy Lanza and Yaeji, and was abundantly satisfied to see a lineup of all-female artists dominating a night of music. I let a comedian pour me a bottomless coffee on a chilly Sunday morning. I applied for the oddest jobs that Austin Craigslist has to offer. I bathed in the humid hipster ambience of ten thousand Edison bulbs. I splashed with the divers of Barton Springs and dined in the darkest corner of Casa De Luz. I opened a dating app for the first time in four years and met a number of handsome, articulate, witty, adventurous people for coffee, drinks, dance classes, and other City Things. I've stacked up hugs and high-fives with three more old friends from Taiwan. I wrote twenty-odd poems and my first song since 2020. My recycled phone number landed me in a family chat with eighteen people who welcomed me as their new cousin. I celebrated my thirty-third birthday on May 1st, and one of my bar-none best and closest VIPs departed this world on the very same day.
I could write about Texas - believe me, I have stories - but my heart isn't here, and no story compares to the legend of us.
singing you skywardI lived with Jesse for nearly two years through the pandemic. We created a paradise of two people. Our secret language was intricate. Our souls were deeply mated. We doted on each other. He always felt like home to me. I had left him at the end of July because we were spiralling into a purgatorial misery and I wanted to disrupt the pattern, but he visited me twice, most recently in Guatemala, just two months ago. We maintained a constant online banter of halfwit inside jokes. We spoke regularly, and often for hours. My backpack holds a selection of small and specific gifts that were intended for him, and a few that he had given me. I always ached to return to our garden of earthly delights, and I was planning to pay him a cautious visit at the end of this month. I was searching for a way to be together that wouldn't destroy us both. There were some very real problems in our relationship, but we loved each other madly, greedily, vibrantly, generously, indulgently, patiently, mutually, and in complete inclusion of our many respective flaws. I was open to the possibility that we would eventually be reunited and share our stupid little lives once more. I know he wanted that.
homesliceOn the morning of my birthday, we were trading texts to schedule a phone call. We agreed to do it later, because we both had some business to handle. Moments after he sent his last message to me, Jesse collapsed at home in his living room. He had willfully cultivated a social contract that allowed him to drop off the map from time to time, so nobody worried about him for a while, but when I hadn't heard from him by the evening of the next day, I knew that something was wrong, and I knew that it was out of my hands. His body was found by a friend on May 4th. I walked out of a very corporate yoga class to find an email informing me of his death, and my world exploded into shrapnel and grief.
two become oneI've had many visits from Jesse this week, in the form of red birds, weird bugs, creative inspiration, and one incredible Tiger Swallowtail butterfly that played in the traffic with me for nearly ten minutes. He will always be present to me in everything that is beautiful, playful, mischievous, and classic. He loved nature, and now he has become nature. He was a deeply attuned, vaguely mystical entity, and he was loved by many. It was the highest compliment and privilege to share this long season of my life with such a good man, and I am a much bigger and better person for having lived through these last years in his company and under his influence. We really got the best of each other; and I mean that both in the sense of high quality and also of reciprocal defeat. I wanted a lot more time.
to the meadowAnd there are mixed feelings. Now that he's gone, I'm able to love him with a wholeheartedness that was harder to access when I had to actually cope with the fallout of his copious shenanigans. I wish that I had spent all of the last nine months glued to his side and showering him with unconditional love and care, but I know that by getting out of the way, I made it easier for him to make a final lap of his own social circle with more lightness, without the nagging complication of a woman at home, and it was the right thing to do. The loss would be much harder if I hadn't spent this year investing in connections and experiences with my own wider network, and it would be much harder if we were still living together. I'm glad he got to experience me in my element and my true form, as world traveler extraordinaire. There's an odd sense of narrative satisfaction in the discovery of how our story ends, and a kind of graceful perfection that settles on a relationship that no longer needs to be practiced. There is new spaciousness on my horizons now that the question of how to approach our big, big love is no longer in the air. There is gratitude that I will never have to weather another argument with him, and we will never hurt or betray or confuse each other ever again. There is black humour in the final cheeky bird-flip stunt of dying on my birthday while I waited for him to call - no gifts this year, but he sure did give me a choice anecdote. There is comfort in knowing that this gorgeous man, who carried so much pain through this life, has arrived at the end of his suffering. We had spoken at length about the future during our recent visit. He was staring down the barrel of some big changes in the coming years, and I'm not sure that he actually wanted to make them. I do think that he was ready, as much as one can ever be.
under the bridge downtownDeath was the only force that could have ended the hypnotic bloodbath of our ardent combat, and I think maybe we were ready, too. One of us had to die before the other would know peace; now the plot can move forward. The peak absurdity is that I am as eager to claim him in death as I was reluctant to do so in life; I went straight from feeling myself brashly single to feeling myself positively widowed. I had left him last year partly to demonstrate to both of us that I would be fine on my own; it's an empty victory, but it would appear that I have proven my point, perhaps to excess. And I know that I will - actually, eventually - be quite fine.
made for walkingI've been humbled by the swell of support and care and affirmation that I've received from our mutual friends over the last week; we built our bond at a time when the world was completely locked down, so it always felt quite insular and private, and I've been genuinely surprised to find that so many of his people were aware of me. In losing Jesse, I've gained a community that seemed strangely inaccessible to me while he was alive, and I'm grateful.
When I rebooted Curiosity Roving in September, I had just lost my darling father. It is such a sick and fitting joke that I am closing this cycle with the death of another cherished companion. Reader, this is the end of the road. The cosmic clock has run out of time and I have nothing more to give. Thank you for sharing this journey with me. If you've enjoyed my offering, please consider making a donation in support of the art - links are at the bottom of this letter. From the crossroads, I take my bow.
big shrugI'm flying to Canada this Saturday, where I plan to get my car back on the road and go for a long, leisurely, unexamined drive. If you're on my route, I hope we can catch a visit. I have work in Victoria, BC for the months of July and August - come and see me if you can. Following that, my canvas is utterly blank. I'm feeling very sad and weary, but I'm still excited to find out what happens next on this wild ride. I'm living the changes in loving celebration of life's many unexpected curveballs. Your friendly neighbourhood wordsmith-adventurer will be back in action when the time is right, and we will once more kiss the joy as it flies.
Hug your friends. Love your people. Live your life. Savour the dance.
Until next time, stay curious. -- Rose
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