recording available: dear-you-052207.mp3
Dear You,
Haven’t written in a while and thought maybe I should. Kind of funny how time and life carries us away, isn’t it? Get all wrapped up in work and sit around staring at the walls in the evening and wonder things like ‘where did all the time go’ and ‘how did I lose touch with…’ and a bunch of other things that generally roll up into a vague sense of dismay and perhaps a mild disgust… psychological lint.
Do you remember being 18? How it felt to think 30 was old? Or how the world seemed so big, and everything was so very possible?
I think about that sometimes. Wonder where the certainty went, you know? Kind of like someone snuck in and stole it when I wasn’t looking. No one to blame but myself. Seems like it all points inside whenever I look, so I try not to look quite so sharp these days.
I keep hearing about those happy people. You know the ones? All off living the happy live, being fulfilled and not just busy, being daring and not just pressured? I’ve been looking for them lately. Kind of wanting to motivate myself with them. Maybe the world is changing… seems like most are just struggling to stay afloat.
Reckon I’m hanging in the wrong part of town. Maybe.
Oh, hah. You’ll get a kick out of this… I had another one of those ‘you’re amazing… but…’ moments the other day. Remember how we used to giggle over the pack of men that always seemed to follow us around? I don’t think we were ever cruel at it, not like some we knew. I know you weren’t anyway. I never did pay attention to it. Just figured they were there for you with all that hair and the way you danced. Heh.
Anyway… I was going to say I’ve been missing that lately. But now that I think about it, it isn’t that I’m missing it. Not really. I think what I’m really missing is the sense of possibility. Forty landed hard, I think. Harder than I realized. I look around and I don’t think I know anyone my age who is actually married. Let alone married and happy.
I start to wonder if that really happens anymore. The folks I do know who are married just seem to be too tired to do more than give that weak smile. The folks I know who aren’t married are too busy wishing they were to be very good company. It’s weird. I don’t want to be married. I just want someone to be good to… you know, remind them life can be amazing and maybe find a little bit of amazing for myself.
Yeah, I know. That has you rolling in the floor, doesn’t it? I’ll tell you a secret… I never wanted to be this archetypal female, this monolith of odd strength and independence. But I never really got the chance to be anything else, and what else can you do when people are drowning all around you but reach down and haul them out when you can?
I didn’t want to be Ms. Independence. Don’t laugh too hard, but I wanted to be a house mouse. Really. I wanted to bake. And decorate. I wanted to have someone walk in the door at night and be so glad I was there. I would have given my soul for it. I’m pretty sure I still would.
I have tried here and there, but I reckon my soul must not be as interesting as it should be… folks just keep leaving it on my doorstep in the night. No note, no gentle request that I take good care of it. Mostly just wadded up and tossed there the way you see happen sometimes when folks think you’re not looking.
Everyone counting on someone else to recycle.
Someone told me today that they finally reached the point where they knew life was past the apex. That the soft descent into death was underway. I thought it kind of morbid, but in the hours since, I’ve been thinking about it. Maybe they’re right. It just seems whatever duty Mother Nature ever had for me has been met, and let’s face it, society and culture never wanted archetypal females… and once you’re over forty, pretty much no one else does, either.
I suppose if you’re lucky, you get to go earthy and maybe find contentment in using what creative energy you have on the planet or the elderly or someone else’s kids. Kind of the community surrogate. The animal shelter and the fairs and the library. But it still feels like descent.
Been fighting it, of course. You know me. Playing with music and digital art and of course, there’s always the writing. But it’s kind of hard to put positive spin on things when you just feel like you’re winding down. It’s not really a depression, just a kind of gentle futility that steals into your bones like a low front. Achey. Stiffness of the soul. When you want to think you could shake it up, but you’re kind of afraid you’d just break something… or worse, have lost the ability to manage it.
Keeps me home, that. Well, that and the way I seem invisible when I do go out. Thing is, I know it’s all still here. Or at least, I think it is. Just getting kind of hard to get the gumption going, ya know? I think about being hopeful and enthused and… I just feel tired. I think about it and for a moment, I believe it just shouldn’t matter and I’m all ready to toss it off and roar…
… then I remember the last time and how foolish I felt standing there alone, or sprawled, or shuffling off as strangers snickered behind me.
Maybe that’s the blessing I’m missing. Somewhere along the way, I forgot how to not care if I made a fool of myself. Well, no, that’s not quite it… history, even recent history, demonstrates I’m no less able to make a fool of myself as I ever was… but something about it hurts in a way it didn’t used to hurt. And I reckon I’m not real sure if I’m willing to hurt like that.
You remember that story I wrote about the medallion and the bird? I still wear the medallion, but judging from the cold, it sure doesn’t seem like there are many feathers left. Been feeling kind of cave-ish lately. Maybe it is time to find the pyre.
Of course, the reason I’m writing to you is because I know you’ll look at the calendar and shake your head and make a note to call me next week when I’m sane again… but I have to tell you, the moon lingers longer than it used to… I feel it going and coming these days. Hell, I feel it when the sun is burning my eyes, too.
Which is why I never actually send these letters anymore. I just write them and put them in the one place no one ever looks or, if they do, they’re just more letters in an ocean of letters… and about as noticeable.
Besides, you can’t see splotches on the electronic page.
Got to take those blessings where you find them.
Guess it’s hardly worth saying that I miss you. But I do. And I’ll still say it because I haven’t quite convinced myself you’d not want to hear them. Maybe someday, you will. In the meantime, light and love to you. As always, I hope you’re doing better than I am and if you’re not, I hope you have someone to tell it all to and plenty of hugs when you need them.
Love,
Me