Museum of Broken Relationships

I went to the Museum of Broken Relationships a few weeks ago. Several of my friends weren’t interested in going because they thought it would be too sad. And it was. But it wasn’t as straightforward as that.

Los Angeles can be a very lonely place. Since it’s so spread out, we’re typically isolated in our cars, stuck in traffic, yelling at other secluded people. We tell each other that we should “totally get together sometime” but it never pans out. We have our faces buried in our phones, even when we’re out with actual people. We have so many “friends” online, but we keep everyone at arms’ length. We don’t want to dig deeper, get messy, let our real selves out, allow ourselves to feel or cry. We’re “too cool” to let anyone in.

The Museum of Broken Relationships was, in a way, a breath of fresh air. Although the contributors remain anonymous, they shared their stories with us, intimate stories that I’m sure were difficult to tell – and read. Sometimes it was a moment; sometimes it was years that changed these people’s lives. And in the telling, they were (I hope) able to release some baggage they’d been holding onto for a while. And in the listening (or reading), we find we’re not alone.

Ranging from boyfriends, girlfriends, friends, family members, husbands, wives and coworkers from all over the world, the stories opened my eyes to the gamut of emotions humans experience, and I could identify (sometimes more than others) with each and every one of them. And not all the stories were sad. Yes, some were completely tragic, but some were letting go of someone toxic, or more empowering. Some were even funny. But they all reflected a part of life, love and loss.

It took maybe an hour and a half to read all the stories, but I have spent longer than that meditating on them. Some stuck with me longer than I thought they would. There was also a confessional-style book that visitors could sign/write in if so moved. I didn’t write in it. I couldn’t think of anything to write at the time. Maybe I had to take some time to digest it all, and now this is my “confessional”. After reading all those stories, even though my friends and I didn’t really speak right away as we walked down Hollywood Blvd., I felt more connected to people as a whole than I think I ever have. I was moved by all the love that the writers poured into their stories and relationships. I empathized with their losses. Yet I somehow knew that things were going to be okay for every one of us.