the weight of the wait

i am home again. out of the shower and smelling of sea salt and peppermint. wanting to feel warm ... satisfied ... strangely feeling neither. we all know that i can think myself dizzy ... and i am spinning ... twisting ... the images, the sensations of this secret dance, they stick to me. i can not shake them ... nor do i want to.

there will always be shadows i can't run from ... ghosts who brush their cold fingertips across my skin ... but they aren't you. they aren't us. and it's foolish for me to suppose or second guess at a time when i should be content to wait ... and see how things unfold. i ought to be, i can be, i am ... content. to wait.

so the question that begs is how to make peace with something too good to be true? and once we do, can it be explained?

i don't want to wear my heart like a girl in a hurry. i want to enjoy the flicker and know i'll be warmed by the flame. i want to be shattered wonderfully. but you'll have to forgive me if i don't know how to do this. my skin is painfully new.

the question of meaning is for you and i to answer. are we a beginning? or a deep and dying breath? i think i know the answer, but i can't quite reach it. 'use your words,' i think, but it doesn't help. the evening has gone straight to my lexicon.

what i know for sure is that i am happy. the last few days have been blissful and i'm keen to see what happens next.

and i am completely unnerved.

and at this i smile.

of faith

have you heard the story of wendy darling and her hidden kiss? the last kiss in the corner of her mouth, the one that her children and her husband all wanted, the one that only peter pan could get?

for me, that hidden kiss has always been faith. and no one could get it. not family nor friends, not even myself. a hundred thousand chances to give it away, but no, i've kept her tucked away-safe from old lovers and new mistakes, so no bitterness bleeds through and the memory of her stays true and dear.

it's ironic, then (or is it fantastic?), that i chose this year to introduce her to the world. this year - the one where i went to war with my heart; this month - with its weeks stained with melodrama and temperance. i have held her up, like an umbrella, protecting me against these extremes of temperature, this folding and pounding; we've stood, hand in hand, as life twisted itself inside-out, and we are laughing loud and long as life is finally displaying the gold hidden within. the excitement, the surprise, the sudden beauty of the everyday has made faith possible.

she is newborn, my faith. fragile and sticky and wet. and yet, in this moment, everything inside me climbs upward. and with her arrival, i find i exist in a perpetual state of hope.

i no longer worry about being broken. a lovely, lovely life is sprouting up from between the cracks and crevices. now, you ask, how does my garden grow? wild and loud and lush.

i no longer wonder how it is i've gone off in eleven different directions from where i began and where i thought i wanted to be. i know, now, that we're not supposed to live with an iron control that excludes those different directions.

i am no longer blind to the series of small miracles that keep me alive. miracles of timing, of impulse, conversations left unsaid, people seen or not seen, opportunities and mistakes lost and grasped. and i've come to not just believe, but to really trust, that sooner or later, good will come to those who do good; joy will be the reward for those who bring humor to others; and opportunity will present itself to those who persist.

in a funny kind of way, the events of the last days are leading me to believe that i can actually will good things to happen. i don't expect immediate results, of course, i just throw my hopes out there into the open air or onto the page and let the universe work its particular brand of evolutionary magic. and in the midst, i find i am calm and comfortable with my settlement. i am happy, high flying, idealistic, looking for beauty and, as always, just a little messy.

and i wouldn't have it any other way.

the ghost of the old eagerness

thomas wolf speaks of 'the ghost of the old eagerness.'

the ghost has awakened in me...in a way that whispers to me in the final moment before sleep comes, when the barriers have fallen. faint, but powerful. i feel something stir inside. something deep and old...making me curious and want to follow its lead.

in those moments, i can feel a tiny wisp of time that hangs in the air, like lightning in a summer sky. and i know something is coming. only, i can't see what it is because it's as if my eyes are adjusting to the sunlight outside.

maybe it's something i want. or something i thought i'd never want, but suddenly find i need. a feeling...not yet fully formed. a part of myself i have never seen. it is not, i am certain, a question of possibility, or of opportunity, or of luck. it just is, in a way i quite like.

i have no expectations, save for the fact that i expect it will arrive - and not according to my whim or wish or timetable. and that one day, i will look back and say, 'there began the thing that would change me forever.'

returning

there is a spot off the beach at doheny where the waves break big and early and often and where, at the end of the day, the sun sits a little longer in the sky, turning the water, the waves and its audience the most brilliant, glittery shade of gold. i like to stop there on my way home from work sometimes, watching the surfers who dare paddle long and hard and deep to reach the swells, watching them race both the current and the sun and listening to their whoops of joy above the crash of the waves and the crush of the wind.

i must look so odd sitting there, in the sand, in my fancy work clothes and my perfect hair. but i don't feel 'odd.' i feel calm and comfortable (though sometimes slightly chilled) and i find the idea of following someone else's joy can almost always lead me to my own.

i haven't stopped there in awhile; everything's been such a whirl. so this evening, if i had my way, i'd steal away to watch the night come down and to give the voices in my head free reign. it's nice having a safe, soft place to land, a place where i don't have to be strong or able or nice, where i don't have to be a good daughter or sister or citizen ... a place where i can just be.

nice. strong. good. of course these are labels i've chosen to wear. i know that. but it's nice to stand naked sometimes. even if someone is looking. especially when someone is looking. thank you for looking.

in my friends, some old and many, oh.so.new, i have found comfort and warmth and genuine affection. and as a result, i find a certain light and lightness turning and returning and so i will heed their gentle reminder that it is not only good, but right, to be someone's first thought.

even my own.

senseless

there are things to say, but i am tired. tired of being the girl things happen to. tired of being leaned upon. tired of waiting for the break in the clouds that doesn't come. tired. and i'm hating this sixth sense of mine - knowing the answers to things before the questions have been asked, but never the right things or the happy things. nature's way of preparing me for the onslaught, i suppose. still, i find it to be a pain in the ass, in the head, in my heart.

my mother has breast cancer. it's early and the tumor is slight, but still, there are questions that beg and long, long road ahead. this makes a few generations for us, and i wonder what this means for me. is there an altered gene somewhere and if so, which one - the gene for breast cancer or for bad luck? are they one and the same?

i've spent a great deal of my life rearranging to suit others - their schedules, their whims, their burdens. it's a choice i make, sometimes out of love, sometimes out of necessity. it requires a lot of me - patience, strength, faith - and it is not always to my benefit. it is not, a friend reminds me, who i am - it is something i do, something i'd pledged to do less of. still, old habits die hard and i suspect these next few months i will behave no differently, though i wonder how much more weight a girl, even one with freakish strength, can bear.

(my mood is dark, it would seem, despite the lightness of the day. too, i have a cold, with the attending rib-rattling cough, and i can feel my pulse in my head.)

with as many difficult choices as it seems there will be ahead, i think it's a good sign that i can at least see that far. who knows? maybe this is just the way it's supposed to be right now. (lucky me!) the universe will eventually perform its magic trick and an entirely new adventure will reveal itself; until then i write with wide hope and a loose wrist and live with the fury of misfortune and delight.

and if that doesn't work - there's always ice cream.

where i'd like to be tonight

no matter where i was today, i wanted to be someplace else.

i thought it had to do with being awake when i could have slept so much longer. i thought it had to do with driving so far to work when i'd like to live just a few minutes away. i thought it might have to do with being stuck inside the store on such a beautiful california day when i'd rather be at the beach.

at the very least, i thought i might be able to shake the feeling loose, once i made my escape and was on the way home.

i was wrong.

now that i'm here, there are a hundred other places i'd rather be:

drinking coffee and laughing -loudly- with tri
at a bar in newport beach, dancing - wild and silly and carefree - with em & m
at the jason mraz concert at the troubador in la (which sold out online before i could even log in.)
drinking hot chocolate and waiting in line for the matterhorn
hiding in a box and waiting to scare someone with amy
watching shannon sing 'goldfinger' at spotlight karaoke
anywhere with laurie t.
in a space of my own
november, 1983
asleep

in this moment, though, none of these things are possible. there are too many unknowns, too many things to say, things to settle, and it feels i'm miles away from any of the above.

how do i get there from here?

the truth about boys and girls

em. & m. ...

sitting and talking with the two of you, whether it's whispering over cake in the kitchen or shouting over the jukebox and cold, cold beer at the huddle, well, it's just about one of my favorite things about california. more than the weather. more than disneyland, even.

in your presence, i can almost see myself through your eyes - strong and beautiful and wise - and in those moments, i actually believe i'm close to becoming the person i've always wanted to be. i will never be able to thank you fully for this particular joy, but i will do my best to help you both find your way to that same place, wherever it may be for you.

your stories on friday night, hearing the pain and doubt and fear in your voices as you told those stories, opened some old wounds. i understand the struggle because i've been where you are and here's the truth of what i've learned (it's a wisdom hard earned, i assure you):

boys are stupid.


it's a lesson i wish i could go back and teach my younger self. the girl i was way back when ... the girl with the flat stomach. and hope.)

i understand what it is to love someone who won't or can't or doesn't love you the way you want him to love you, they way you 'need' him to love you. it's awkward and soul-crushing and completely avoidable. the truth is, we don't get 'burned' by men. we burn ourselves. we know what will hurt us and we reach out for it again and again because we're used to that particular pain and it's easier to take than looking for something new.

i want better than that for you. for all of us. (there's no reason we girls must be stupid, too.) so, look for something new!

it's okay to be afraid and to feel unloved ... it will happen a lot and will never last. there is a certain wild joy that comes from simply not going under. once the soul begins to awaken, there is no stopping it. it can be resisted. it can be denied. for a while. but 'awake' holds so much potential and delicious possibility - even as it can be a fearsome sort of thing, i think. it means taking responsibility instead of letting things happen. it means letting things happen when there is nothing that can be done.

and i won't tell you that it isn't painful as hell, and scary too, nurturing a life you want to live into being. it's harder than you think it will be, happier, too. i promise you that.

and in the midst, you will make mistakes and say the wrong things and ache with the constant newness of it all. and when you're unsteady or insecure, don't be afraid to reach for something to keep your balance. but try not to make it a boy. (and reaching out for support when you truly need some, you should know, doesn't make you weak, it just makes you wise. it also makes you feel better.)

i don't know if i help at all. i hope i do. and even if i don't ... at least today is a new day.

you're ready to make all kinds of new mistakes, new friends, new flights, new enemies and new revelations as to why it's good to be alive. the most important thing to remember is to embrace everything with enthusiasm and respect. a wrong turn, a bad review, a difficult relationship ... well, it's never the end of the world. there's nothing good music, duct tape or a letter from a friend can't fix. life is good like that.

and with the two of you in mine, life is quite good, indeed.