I wasn’t going to write today. Or exercise. Yet, here I am typing away and early this morning I went on a 2+ hour walk. If the weather is even remotely nice, I have a compulsion to get out. This is why the weather forecasts have been so vexing. I hate sitting in waiting for the rain, only to find out it’s not coming and I’ve just been sitting in. Today is yet another day with an incredibly inaccurate forecast. I’m not the only one who notices this – a woman walking in front of me was telling her friend, “today is supposed to be a wash. It’s supposed to be raining right now.” It feels strange to be disappointed by good weather. The last note I wrote on my phone during my walk this morning was, “I found myself wanting the heavy certainties of a good downpour.” To be fair, the reason it’s a little more important than usual for me to time my outside time, is that earlier in the week I strained my right Achilles tendon. I think I did it running up a steep hill. Between that and the hip pain I’ve had recently, my mobility should probably be limited. I almost want it to rain so that I don’t feel like I’m missing out (because that’s not at all ego-centric).
I read a few poems before going on my walk. I’m revisiting some of the Robert Hass poems. The lines that stuck were from a poem called “Privilege of Being”
and one day, running at sunset, the woman says to the man,
I woke up feeling so sad this morning because I realized
that you could not, as much as I love you,
dear heart, cure my loneliness,
wherewith she touched his cheek to reassure him
that she did not mean to hurt him with this truth.
And the man is not hurt exactly,
he understands that life has limits, that people
die young, fail at love,
fail at their ambitions. He runs beside her, he thinks
of the sadness they have grasped and crooned their way out of
It feels a little unfair to end my quote there… the poem continues to a slow build of acceptance “…ready / to be alone again, or dissatisfied, or merely / companionable like the couples on the summer beach.”
Perhaps the poem primed the pump, but as I walked along the empty sidewalks of the city making my way to the river, there was the distinct feeling of summers past – specifically the week my family spent at the shore – and very much the one my ex-fiancee joined me for. I was also caught by the emptiness of the city. Memphis has always struck me as being semi-vacant. It was one of the lasting impressions when I visited the city three years ago. To be fair, 8am on a Sunday during a pandemic might have something to do with the lack of activity. There’s a special feeling to being in a city when the streets are empty of cars and people – it’s a little magical.
Because I’m feeling lazy, I’m going to cheat with the remainder of the post and simply share the notes I took as I walked these past two days (maybe with a little editing for clarity).
[5/16/20]
Swallows arc and slice
Some mornings the river has that brackish smell of stagnation and salt and fish it reminds me of the ocean and the creek beds of my childhood
There are days when I think how preposterous it seems to teach writing to undergraduates – how little of life they’ve lived… and then I’m reminded that some have lived more in their first twenty years than most of us do in a lifetime. And by lived, of course I mean experienced complexities and hurt and simply being aware
Sometimes when you’re looking all around you walk through unexpected puddles… d’oh.
How brazen the robin in the morning alone on the fence post singing louder than all the world
In a weird way, learning to write, if that’s what I’m doing, is a little like learning to live and a lot like learning to love. At first you take it all in and put it back out with just as much verve and enthusiasm and effort. Everything is amazing and on fire with wonder and possibility. You become convinced that this is how to live… the only way to live. As if each moment should be infused with life or death intensity. But at some point, if you’re lucky enough to pull back and create space, you start to appreciate the silence, the editing, the holding back. You start to think about choice and what you will allow in. You recognize that the pause breeds the excitement of anticipation. That you can’t hear all the birds all the time, you have to choose what you will notice, what you will remark upon. And while the tulips and magnolia trees are pregnant with possibility and stories – beneath which a couple falls in love or a husband buries his spouse…. sometimes they are just tulip and magnolia trees blooming and dying and blooming again. It feels amazing to be aware and awake, and so you spend as little time sleeping as possible. But sleep is restorative, sleep is where dreams are created. Rest brings us back to balance.
A ladybug flashed red against the gray cobblestone walk – a world so small yet fully complete. We are on different scales, each large enough to contain us.
[5/17/20]
Yellow door
Ballpark empty
Coffee shop now abandoned
Something about the feel of the air and the humidity and walking around in the quiet of morning reminds me of mornings at the beach in Sea Isle City. I was struck by how bittersweet such a moment could be. The presence of now being prodded ever so lightly by the weight of something lost. I wonder if this is how my ex-fiancee, B, felt. Because in the moment you are there and also aware that it may never be enough.
Once you start to see and feel the world this way, can you ever go back?
Cobblestone banks of the Mississippi
Writers and Buddhism – an odd juxtaposition. The writer adheres to detail and feeling – the religion preaches detachment. Perhaps that’s why Hemingway killed himself – insufficient detachment.
Clouds low and storm-gray like the kind you see drifting in a painting of sailboats on choppy waters
A dog, a husky, galloping like a maniac powered by some otherworldly sense of joy through the field taking sharp turns, all head bobs and tongue out
This is where a cannon sat. Strategically positioned above the bend in the river where it could fire upon approaching enemy ships. The view now is just as spectacular without the consideration of tactics. I’d like to live in a world without strategy and tactics.
From a distance the dying flowers on the magnolia have a mustard hue which compliments the ivory of the newly opened flowers
To want to share the moment and also enjoy it for yourself. To walk lightly between two worlds
Theories of you (a poem title)
I try to be a gentle soul who recognizes the value in a solid bout of anger. The learning that takes place in trying to walk it all back.
The soft feel of the cupped petal (I had picked up a magnolia petal)
The young couple tried to prop the toddler up for a picture. Dad balancing her between his knees. Left to her own devices the child took a step and a half before falling backwards on her rump in a way that looked practiced – this is how we learn to fall, to hit the padded spots
At some point I mistook the holding back for something amiss. Nothing so bad as a infidelity, but an intentional keeping out, an unwillingness to share.
Life has taught me that withholding was cause for suspicion, a form of punishment.
Stupid goofy things like Vance park and her nephew being named Vance
Writing: an attempt to learn how to be honest without hurting someone else
A woman heavyset, black, with a deep and raspy voice sat on her balcony facing Main Street. With her two young children maybe school aged.
The three of them greeted every passerby in song. “Good morning world … good morning world … good morning world.” A single refrain, the words drawn out, the kids off time, a boisterous reminder that we get to greet the world anew each day.
I found myself wanting the heavy certainties of a good downpour.
*** That’s what passes for a blog post this morning/afternoon. There are things I hope to expand on for sure. For one, I’ve gotten used to this walking meditation or dialogue. In a way, the conversation is soothing. Quite a bit during the first part of my walk today, I was wondering if this is what my ex-fiancee meant when she said she needed time and space to herself. This type of thinking can be difficult in the presence of someone else – especially if they’re like me and always want to know what you’re thinking and seem to glow in the light of your attention. I’m not sure I’m the type of person who will need alone time and space, but I have a different sense of it now, an appreciation for it that I don’t think I had or considered before.