"I love the mornings of things."

That's a quote from N, who was seven at the time and turns eleven today.

What child looks a little mournfully at the passing of his own childhood? One who feels everything, naturally. Mine, naturally. Every year since he said that, he's expressed a wish not to be growing up, which is funny because, as my friend Kyle says, "He was never a baby." He was born trying to keep up with his siblings, like every youngest.

I wasn't sentimental about my birthdays at his age. I checked them off like Tom Hanks marking the passage of time on his cave wall in "Castaway". I'm still in some kind of delusional state of believing with all my heart that "the best is yet to be" as it relates to me. (It better be. I've got a lot of room to grow.)

But oh, I love these days with the kids. I don't want them to ever end. Sometimes I get a frantic feeling about the passing of this summertime of their childhood, that I ought to be stashing away time somehow, making maximum use of it. Taking more pictures, stuffing more wisdom into their heads, kissing them more. And also feeling a pang of guilt for enjoying the times when my house is kid-free and aaah...clean.

Or I could just sit next to them like I did last night, laughing at the seagulls on tv nomming on swarms of insects. Opine about where's the best place to be buried (Death Valley) and what's the most regal age to be (sixty).

Just notice. Notice and enjoy.


The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

(c) 1990 by Mary Oliver

The Doppler Effect

“There is another physical law that teases me, too: the Doppler Effect. The sound of anything coming at you- a train, say, or the future- has a higher pitch than the sound of the same thing going away…. But I would like to hear your life as you heard it, coming at you, instead of hearing it as I do, a somber sound of expectations reduced, desires blunted, hopes deferred or abandoned, chances lost, defeats accepted, griefs borne.” –Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose

Alright, Wallace, thanks for that ray of sunshine. That’s kind of a bummer.

That passage came to mind, though, because this is an anniversary of sorts. This chunk of time, late May through June, marks one year since a natural disaster occurred in my life, my own mini-Katrina. It has already taken the mummified form of “something that happened”, but anniversaries have a way of bringing you back to when it was happening, when you didn’t know what to expect from day to day or sometimes minute to minute.

A year ago, my cozy world of friendships was bending under the winds of a scorned woman’s fury. I would have spent more time attending to that, except, at the very same time, the levy of my family unit was breaking. My kids’ lives were suddenly flooded by the new reality that their parents were splitting up, and, by the way kids, it’s happening NOW. The devastating news was delivered. My birthday was spent in retreat. I helped N celebrate his tenth birthday, and a day later, I began moving.

There wasn’t much to move. Most of the things at the old house were needed there, and on Monday I had no real plan, no idea how I was going to furnish an entire house in one week with very little money. But then something of a miracle happened: Dad sent me a chunk of cash, and people began giving me things.

Friends, friends-of-friends, strangers I’d just met, people at garage sales, just freaking handed me stuff. Twin bed: here. Need a rug? Here’s a nice big one from Pottery Barn for twenty bucks. Lamp? Here’s one that looks like it came from a fancy store for three dollars, but it needs to be fixed (it works fine). Here’s an ironing board. Here are some dishes and pots and pans. Why don’t you take these shoe racks and this pile of cute clothes and this feather comforter and this snow board and these drapes and on and on.

As for the rest, I don’t know what I spent. It was a lot, but it’s a fraction of what it would have been if Kindness hadn’t made so many visits. By Friday I had enough to get by, and by the end of the summer I had a home. A peaceful home. A tell-gross-stories-and-dance-in-your-chair-during-dinner home.

There was a lot to adjust to, and there’s no way of knowing what needs to be adjusted to until it arrives. The kids have the adolescent joy of waking up each day to an alien body. Living in two very different environments, and getting through a seriously difficult school year, was hard on all of them. For me, loneliness took many forms. I went through a period of drinking and fooling around and I am now sick of both. The seasons revealed different aspects of the dilapidated state of our rental. Money has been a huge stressor. These sentences are just too small to contain the reality of how fucking hard this year has been.

And to top it all off, I’m fat. Not really, but enough to put some clothes in the back of the closet. Now, I know to some of you this is ridiculous, but to me, it adds another level of exposure. It’s the figure equivalent of a messy house. (It’s a girl thing, guys, just trust me.)

In fact, a year later, nothing is tidy! There is no “and now it’s all better” ending to this story. I’m not even divorced yet! But there are some victories to celebrate.

E is facing the enormous changes in her mind, body, family, and social world with courage, and continues to be a loving presence. (We live with the very real fear that her courage may fail, and try to take each day as it comes.) Her joy has returned. Please let us be doing the right things.

O, too, has undergone a startling transformation, and appears to be navigating it by being true to himself. As e.e. cummings put it, “To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight.” Please, O, please take cummings’ advice to “never stop fighting.”

N faced his fear of failure over and over at school. He took the hard classes and the lead roles. Luckily for him, he’s extremely smart and resourceful and succeeded at all of them. He no longer talks about wanting to opt out of Planet Earth. “I don’t know what the popular crowd is,” he said to his siblings a couple months ago, “but if there is one, I’m in it!” He is, actually. Please hold off on puberty another year, N. Let’s savor this moment.

My victory is holding it all together, including my own broken heart. I’m not pointing fingers on that one, but I’m not denying it anymore either. I’ve officially renounced my attempts to make it whole by finding The One who will make me feel special, wanted, loved, and beautiful, and let me tell you, it feels good. As much as I have always appreciated my friends and loved ones, this attitude adjustment has released me to really enjoy the fact that most of what I need from other people, I’m already getting from them. The good ones make me feel all those things already.

A brilliant psychologist named Stacey Arnett taught me a little trick: summon the pain, experience it in your body, feel its shape and location, and then go into its center. For me it’s a ball in my chest, with tendrils of lightning that go down my arms. I feel this when I see certain people or think about particular events. It’s a black hole of grief, rejection, betrayal and disappointment. It doesn’t matter in this exercise what its origins are; you’re not supposed to figure out how it started or who is responsible. I did what she said, and within seconds, it was hard to locate.

Then she gave me another idea to work with: Jung’s concept of the Animus. Briefly, it’s the male aspect within the female. (Yes, I’m sure he thought of one for you dudes too!) All these things you imagined in another person have their origin in this—your Animus. It’s part of you. The part that hears a love song you know was written for you…that’s you singing it to you. The person who accepts you for who you are, the one who shields you, stands up for you, treasures you: that’s you.

I admit, this makes me feel a little silly. I feel a bit like waving my magic wand and yelling “Expecto Patronum!” (Bachelor Number Two, if you were my Patronum, what animal would you be?) But it’s working today. As with my daughter, I have to take my own state on a day-by-day basis.

On the whole, my life looks kinda like my house: a bit frowzy. Whatever. If you can accept me as I am, you’re welcome to come in. If I think you’re judging me, though, I will politely avoid you; that job is already taken, and I’m really good at it.

Looking backward at Joseph Campbell’s highly successful life, it’s hard to imagine him feeling this way, but his take on the high pitch of life as you’re living it was this:

"Nietzsche was the one who did the job for me. At a certain moment in his life, the idea came to him of what he called 'the love of your fate.' Whatever your fate is, whatever the hell happens, you say, 'This is what I need.' It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment—not discouragement—you will find the strength is there."