reading and pinching.
in Loved Ones, there are pictures here, Thoughts and Feelings
as arteries, bottom of the hill, brokenness, bus, chinatown bus, co dependency, darnit, escape, grief, moment, reading, reading novels, scalpel, self help books, self-help, skin, story, wonderful things, yarn
Lately, I’ve been reading novels.
Yes, this is noteworthy, because I spent about two years reading just about every book on healing and co-dependency and heart-brokenness and grief that I could get my hands on.
And then one day I was just like, Huh, I think I’d like to read a good yarn again. Actually, I’m pretty sure I did not think the word yarn. I never think the word yarn. I mean, I don’t even know how to knit or crochet or any of the wonderful things more talented people than I do with yarn. But, I remembered that feeling of reading a story and escaping into the intrigue, the happy ending, the sadness, the whatever, but the point is–ESCAPING.
You know, for a moment, anyway.
Self-help books, though? They are not an escape. They are a scalpel. And they cut right through your skin, your veins, your arteries, until suddenly you’re bleeding out and there is your heart, all dissected and open on the chinatown bus. And you didn’t expect to be crying and making promises to yourself that you ARE committed to life, darnit; that you will NOT give up and you will no longer think about laying down in the stream at the bottom of the hill you grew up on. All this, while the guy next to you is snoring with his mouth open, and you’re embarrassed to look at it–well, embarrassed for him, anyway.
Right, so I’ve started reading novels again. And I love it. I love to read. Some of the sentences I just stare at for a while, they are so beautifully constructed. They are little masterpieces and I’m in a museum, page by page making my way through, nice and slow. Like it’s only one o’clock and the museum is open until nine.
Aside from reading novels, I am doing stuff like this.
“You are not very pinchable, Jess,” Eli, my nephew, tells me tonight.
“What do you mean, bud?”
“There’s just not much to pinch,” he says, though I notice it sure doesn’t keep him from trying.
“Oh–I’m skinny?”
“Yeah, skinny. Not pinchable,” he says, and that’s that.
And would you look at this little elfkin?
Cute as a button, that one.
But watch out! He pinches.
new york minutes.
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Thoughts and Feelings
as arrow, bus, change, chapter, chautauqua ny, dwarves, grief, house, inevitable change, lord of the rings, moment, new york minutes, nobody, reading a book, summer dance, Tally, time, twelve years, Voice, way
I woke up this morning feeling scared and sad. Like I didn’t want to go anywhere. I know that feeling well. It started when I was just barely twelve years old, going to Chautauqua, NY, to their summer dance intensive all by myself. I remember I couldn’t stop crying.
And I felt like that again this morning. This heaviness in the pit of my stomach; this resistance to what was inevitable: change. My mom asked me how I was doing. “Fine,” I said in an abnormally high voice. I wasn’t. I mean, I am now, but I wasn’t then. But one thing that I have learned–and I don’t mean this in a cynical or even depressed way in the slightest–and that is, life goes on. And just because you feel something now does not mean you always will, and, blessedly–life goes on. Astoundingly so, actually.
How does this happen? I am not sure, but I think it has something to do with what we do with all the moments that, at the time, we assume just don’t matter. Because, eventually, you are standing in the house that was built upon those moments. And if we want better someday, then we draw back our arrow and aim for better right now. We don’t wait for better; we choose better this moment.
I found myself on a bus surrounded by sleeping people, en route to NYC. It was so interesting. We were all crammed together, each of us a chapter to a book nobody but God will ever read, I think–and I couldn’t help but be intrigued by this beginning. And I also couldn’t help but think about this past year. I am reading a book about grief right now, thinking about letting go of the things that have gone away, anyway. This book tells you to sort of tally your losses so that you can feel what you need to feel about them. And I was struck by the thought that in a little over a year’s time, I have lost my marriage, my job, and my house. Well now, that’s quite a resume of loss. I feel like quoting the Lord of the Rings:
I’m Mr. Bilbo Baggins, I’ve lost my dwarves, my wizard and my way.
But, I think I need to read a book on finding things, too. Because I have found so many things in this same season. I am here in New York. I am living in an apartment by myself. I am fine; I really am. And just because I cry sometimes doesn’t actually even mean I am not fine. I think it has more to do with the fact that I am human. Or, as the Killers would say–am I dancer? Yes, that’s right, they don’t even put the article, ‘a,’ in there, leaving us all quite confused.
Today I went to Whole Foods and bought some groceries and felt quite happy to be there. I smiled at people (when it was appropriate; I’m not going all Joker up here in NYC) and I happily bought bananas and peanut butter and cheese and bread, to name a few things. Then I took yoga and even did a half-way-kind-of-handstand. Handstands are a new goal of mine.
They seem impossible.
But, at one point, so did the life I am living right now.
an elephant on my plate.
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Thoughts and Feelings
as counselor, crossing the delaware, Delaware River, elephant, enormous job, grief, happenstance, how to read a map, melody beattie, nobody, purpose, sad cry, self, self help book, self-help, swagger back, tiny pieces, today, women
I picked up a book by happenstance today. *note to self: nobody says ‘happenstance;’ at least not since George Washington was crossing the Delaware River. Something he did not do by happenstance, either. I am pretty sure Mr. Washington crossed rivers during wars on purpose. That’s the impression I get, anyway. But the nice thing [...]
uh, that’s not the kind of baptism I meant, but okay. It’ll do.
in Funny Stuff, Loved Ones, video
as friend, God, grief, head, Jimmy, life, little gem, package, pouring water, rebound, rest of the night, water
Basically life gets funnier when I open my mouth. Well, that, and more embarrassing. Like tonight, when I was innocently referring to how my friend came over and showed up with a small bag of cookies, but ended up saying this: And then Jimmy showed up with his small package… But then I couldn’t even [...]
