For Benny

I’m sick of this bed

I’m sick of my head

Telling me things that aren’t true

I wish I weren’t here

I’m glad I’m not there

So many things to push through

Memory’s a prison,

Memories are reasons

To carry on over the dam

The river is swollen

The river is raging

I’ll drown in the way that I am.

No younger, no younger

I’ll never get younger

Sitting here, waiting for rain

With my ego undone

I’ll walk into the sun

And start to swap nothing for pain

For pain is one side

Of the joy that it hides

And all of the muck down below

Will gather God’s glory

In its infinite story

As up to the surface I go.

~M. Gardner, 1/18/10

"I exist as I am. That is enough." Walt Whitman

Is it? Last night I had the experience of dining with "accomplished" people. People roughly my age who are uber-professionals. One, a doctor, journalist, and TV producer. The other (her husband), a published author and contributing editor for a very well-respected, well-known publication. They have the sort of house that you see in movies about interesting, intellectual, complicated, accomplished, people. Whimsical and eclectic art; a grand piano; a dog and a cat with equally charming personalities; many, many books on grand, built in bookcases; unusual and well-worn furnishings--more chic in their shabbiness. This is a house where grown-ups live. Grown-ups with full and interesting lives that take them to foreign cities and dinners with famous people and the sets of famous TV shows to which they consult.

The other adult guests were charming and fascinating as well. The daughter of the other guests, and of our hosts, a pair of 12 year-old girls, cooked the meal that we shared. We were regaled over dinner with stories of famous and not-so-famous, interesting, accomplished, people.

What makes a person accomplished? Why did (do) I feel so "less than" after my evening with these grown-ups? I think of Emerson's words: "To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded." Alas, this has become the measure of my days, the goal I strive for. It may be too late for some kinds of success. But it is never too late to live in the moment. In fact, the older I get, the more imperative it seems. In the moments that make up a 24-hour day, can I be kind and loving? Can I reach out to someone in need? Can I make someone laugh, and not at someone else's expense? Can I set a good example for my daughter about what it means to be human in relation to another human? Many, many days I fail at one or most or all of these things. Just as I have failed at grander enterprises: jobs, dreams, relationships, careers. But every day, if I want it, I have the opportunity to try again to succeed at being the best person I can be. A worker among workers, a true and caring friend, a grateful and loving daughter, a gentler mother and spouse. That can be enough, if I am humble enough to let go of my ego and if I remember not to compare myself with others.

Heck, I'm no Walt Whitman!

To live in this world...

"...To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go."

Humility

Say with each breath
"Make me humbler,
Make me humbler;"
when you are small as an atom,
you will know his glory.
~Rumi

Wishbones

Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.
~Clementine Paddleford

What great advice! Am I encouraging my daughter to grow a wishbone or a backbone? This is something I think about (worry about) often. For most of my own life, I definitely cultivated, lovingly and not so lovingly, the wishbone. Wishing for my prince instead of nurturing my inner princess. Wishing for a better job instead of giving my best to the one I had at the time. Wishing for my diploma instead of going to class. Wishing for everything to go my way instead of flowing with the current of the day. Wishing for someone to take care of me, to carry my load, instead of strengthening myself in order to carry my own burdens. That wishing led me to take people hostage, to feel sorry for myself, to rationalize my bad behavior at every turn. Maybe today the wishbone, hollow and empty, frail and brittle, is being transformed to backbone - strong and sturdy, fortified with love and grace. This is the best way I know how to show my daughter that wishes are wistful without the integrity to stand up tall, with her back straight.

Time is like a river - it flows by and doesn't return.
--Chinese Proverb

Sometimes at night, just before I go to sleep, I feel this pit in my stomach, a feeling of fear and loss over all the things I can't get back, ever. It's dense and immobilizing, I have to remind myself to breathe. It's melancholy and painful, like the universe has inverted and there is nothing left but a black hole...and me. Alone. So I have to close my eyes and feel my way out of the hole. On the edge of panic, I use Andy's snoring as a guidepost. I reach out for the curl of the cat asleep next to me. I recall Rachel's "I love you" an hour before when she kissed me good night. I smell the sweat in my blankets and remember that I am here now. A soul trying to be human. A human, being.