a new chapter

Dennis is moving back to Boston…

[You see that Den? Live and in print; it's a done deal now]

So this year spring will bring about a new era. And it’s about time. I’m done with this particular holding pattern.

My twenties: a decade of waiting, of circling, of spinning my wheels… An era of uncertainty, spent looking hesitantly back over my shoulder, still cloaked in green naivety, peering around corners, only guessing at the paths ahead.

Of hope, of dreams, flushed pink in inspiration.

Of quietly dying inside. The astronaut floating in space, the umbilical cord: the imminent cut.

Of growth: the creaking, aching sounds of growing pains.

And at the end of the chapter, age 29 finds me stamping my feet, just to feel the solid earth beneath them again.

And in January: I turn 30.

Chapter four. Will begin around a table with friends and candles and wine and a committed lover, one who is moving back to Boston just to be with me.

That’s all I know.

Children

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
And He bends you with His might that His arrows maygo swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves aso the bow that is stable.

– Kahlil Gibran

breathe

It’s 5:15. What have I done all day? I’ve got half a dozen windows open; I start looking for a file, get distracted, forget what I’m looking for, check my email, go back to finishing the email I started, remember what file I was looking for… shit, I’ve got to get out of here or I won’t have time to go home before taekwondo…what was I doing again?

I finish writing the email, send it off, shut down my computer, get in my car…god, I’m starving, I shouldn’t have eaten that chocolate bar, I’ve gotta stop eating sugar, it only makes me tired and I’m starting to feel pudgy again…stopppit, I shouldn’t be thinking like that….but I’ve gotta stop eating sugar, I should be stricter with myself… I should start exercising more, in the mornings maybe…

I leave work into darkness. Rain and blurred headlights. I get onto the highway — where’d all this traffic come from? It’s backed up as far as I can see. Almost get run off the road by a truck. Inch my way into the left lane, one lane at a time times three. Stop and go, foot never completely off the clutch. Finally get into fourth gear before having to slam on the breaks again. God, I’m starving. And I’ve gotta remember to swing by the dry cleaners on the way home…been meaning to do that for two weeks now. Damn, it’s an accident.

It’s 6:30 when I get into Cambridge. Starving. Forget the dry cleaners; tomorrow, I promise I’ll do it on the way to work… Right, I said that this morning didn’t I…I need to start getting up earlier…

Get home, what’s this Fedex notice? Did I order something? I can’t remember. If I can’t remember I probably didn’t really need it. I’ve gotta start being more careful with my money. I won’t be getting paid for the time I take off at Christmas, I really need to watch my money…

Feed the cats. Feed myself. Why am I always so hungry? It’s not like I actually burn calories sitting on my ass in front of a computer all day… Shit, it’s 7:25 already, I’m going to be late for taekwondo. I’ve gotta start getting there earlier so I can stretch. Put my coat back on, find my keys, rush out of the house, rush to the school, rush to change, sit down to stretch, how did I get to be so stiff? Mr. Hwang claps his hands for class to start; no time to stretch out that pulled hamstring.

At this point my brain begins to melt. My kicks are weak, my right hamstring twinges when I move, I have no control over the direction of my hands…Mr. Hwang is making fun of me again…

Hurry up and take a shower, change, always the last one out…

Get home and think:

Stop.

I sit outside on the dusty old couch and I think:

Breathe.

The rain has mostly stopped now, just dripping from the trees, making muffled pattering sounds as it hits the leaf-carpeted ground.

Breathe.

Why do I get so tired? Why does just getting through the day take so much out of me? Every day, every goddamed day. Is this really how I’m going to spend the rest of my life?

Breathe.

I’ve gotta get control of my life. I’ve gotta start stretching more, so I don’t keep pulling muscles. I’ve gotta start getting up earlier so I don’t have to rush in the morning, because it sets the tone for the day. I’ve gotta be more efficient with my time at work. I’ve gotta start eating better. I’ve gotta be more focused. I’ve gotta learn how to relax. I’ve gotta start actually doing all the things I say I’ve gotta do…

Breathe.

I’m too hard on myself. I’ve gotta stop nagging myself. It’s no wonder I feel so damn beaten up all the time.

Breathe.

I’ve gotta…

Breathe.

Rain. Cool, damp night air. Muffled pat-pattering sounds. Breathe. Take air in, let it out…

Breathe.

Remember this.

“Remember this. The dog will die; Maytree and I will at best grow old. It will all unroll from now. I am twenty-three and Maytree thirty; before the sea he fools with the living dog and squints. It will never again be like this. I see from our bedroom window Maytree in the yard holding sun everywhere. Just now a flaw of wind the size of a thumb drags a glissando across the sea. The air apparent.”

– Annie Dillard, from The Two of Them, published in Harper’s November issue.

I read this story on a cold, wet Sunday, huddled at my little table in the lamp-lit warmth of my 1369 Café. And when I got to the end, I flipped back through the pages and began again.

Remember this. The dog will die;