for being a year that held so much, it's almost the year that wasn't. so much has happened in my life, in my head, in my heart, I feel I've had less time to revel in the moments of each season. though maybe because a lot of moments haven't happened—and it's like I can't mark time the way I used to. for example, in 2019, I posted here twice: once in august and once in november, while for july 2020, here I am posting for the second time already because I clearly have nothing better to do than marinate in my own head.
all spring and summer smeared together and now it's coming on august. a weird august, because town won't be full of the incoming college students and crowded streets on warm summer evenings.
here's my problem: I can't be happy anywhere. I went home the last week of march and stayed for three months—which was awesome. looking back, seriously, it was stellar.
- working from home with fresh coffee in the morning
- leaving work early just because it's sunny out
- pg wodehouse books, walking around the block
- phone calls in the hammock
- atari games on the projector
- chickapig with a 12-year-old boy (so it just becomes a contest to see who can say "poop" the most)
- badminton, pool, badminton, pool
- grilled peppers and onions
- pool lights, loud music, late swimming
- back to the future at the drive-in with skittles and goldfish
- talking in whispers because everyone else is asleep
- driving all afternoon
- sitting by the river, watching the rain
the whole time wasn't idyllic, of course. work was a tough adjustment, everyone is dealing with different & conflicting stresses, but mostly I felt like I'd abandoned my city at the moment of crisis. what was I missing by being locked down, states away?
well, nothing, of course. being back is easier because I'm not worried about being the superspreader for my entire family, but I miss them every day. and mama's cooking, which is irreplaceable. and I am trying not to regret coming home to cambridge, because I regretted going home to louisville, and now I wonder why I didn't just enjoy it when I'd give so much to go back and live those days better.
going back is the crux of the issue: I miss the life that was, and I think I'm still grieving it, and searching for a place that will give me back that past. here, I miss taking the T. I miss having the air on my entire face when I leave the house. I miss deep breaths. I miss the crowds. I miss the office. I miss my desk and my beloved teammates. I miss fireworks shows on july 4th, miss spontaneous summer parties, miss standing shoulder to shoulder and not thinking twice about hand-shaking and hugging. for as long as I can remember, I've tied places to time, and carry this eternally disappointing sense that if I go back to a place I can recapture something of its spirit (usually wistful because of incorrect memories of joyful perfection). that makes it hard to know where to be, and hard when going there is so different now from last year or any year before: everything is different. once again I feel adrift and lost in time and space—I clutch at little shreds of routine, because otherwise everything is shifting sand.
besides the solid rock I stand on, all other ground is indeed shifting sand. funny that it's only taken a global pandemic and a terrible work partner and race protests and a heartbreak to remind me.
I am glad to be alive and safe and well (for the moment). I am glad I have friends who still call, still text, still write. I am glad we have resilient supply chains and sunny days and shared trouble. there is wifi and books and music and love, and the world is still peopled with wonders.
slow down, you crazy child
and take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile
it's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two
when will you realize—vienna waits for you?
and take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile
it's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two
when will you realize—vienna waits for you?
