After a decent day, one in which I felt fairly present, last night was emotionally mixed. I jotted down the note “these were the unbalanced days that made up the year without balance.” Though balance wasn’t really the word I wanted to use, I wanted to get at the notion of feeling joy in experiencing simple beauty but within the same day feeling something entirely different, just as palpable, but not as easily named. Late in the night, I sat down to write about it, but decided against it. I wasn’t in the mood to be a downer, or even a chronicler of mixed emotions… though my iPod shuffling through songs had a different agenda “Don’t Give Up” by Peter Gabriel was followed by “God’s Comic” by Elvis Costello, which was soon followed by “Disappearing One” by Chris Cornell which was followed by the post-apocalyptic tune “Four Minutes” by Roger Waters. And maybe my ears only caught the somber songs as I ate my cinco de mayo tacos. I’m sure there were other songs that played in between, but I hadn’t noticed them.
If I was going to write, I had planned on writing about my walk in the park, which was, at times, buoyant. If I made one mistake on my walk, it was putting on a mix of songs from Wild Child as I walked. They are one of my favorite bands, but most of their songs are about the push and pull difficulties of relationships – the leaving and the coming back, or sometimes just the leaving and the longing that gets left behind. It had the effect of sometimes pulling me out of the physical presence of the moment (trees and people and sights) and in to the mental moments (the past, how to mentally let things gather a bit of moss, the question of was she the one and the discomfort of telling myself I was not the one). It was a really nice afternoon here in Memphis. The wind that had pestered me earlier in the day on my run had died down and the sun was shining in full force. I went for a two-hour family walk just before dinner – an intentionally slow amble probably about five or six miles – a slow amble full of intention. I thought about how maybe I need to claim that phrase “family walk” (though it seems a little silly when it’s just me). I thought some more about getting a dog. It seems super irresponsible – I’m jobless, will at some point have to move (either here in Memphis or to wherever I land a job), and I have a tubby, partially-blind, older cat who should probably be allowed to enjoy his days without the nuisance of a meathead “good girl” pooch. Nevertheless, I thought about getting a dog which is why I wanted to call it my family walk. I thought about how sometimes I feel like I’m trying to co-opt pieces of this other person’s life and make them my own. Take those things that I enjoyed that they can no longer give and give them to myself.
When I go for a walk (or run), I usually head down to the river where there’s a long sidewalk path that wanders from one end of downtown to the other. It takes me about 10 – 15 minutes to walk to the park, and then the path is about a mile-and-a-half from where I pick it up at Union Avenue to where it dead ends in a field by a church near the Big River Crossing pedestrian bridge to Arkansas. On ambitious days, I take the bridge. The park is actually a string of parks. Tom Lee Park is the main park and it’s connected to Memphis Park, Beale Street Landing, Ashburn-Coppock Park, and Martyrs Park.
Martyrs Park is quickly becoming a favorite spot for me. Just past all of the big houses that overlook the river is this quiet little park. It’s up the hill that kicks my ass every time I run – which might be why it’s quiet (nobody wants to go up the hill). It’s named Martyrs park after the people who stayed behind in Memphis to care for the people who were sick and dying from Yellow Fever – many of the caregivers died as well. The steep banks are covered in honeysuckle which makes the air deliciously sweet. A few days ago, on a similar walk, I noticed the trees in the park – two types in particular. The one type is a tulip tree, which I had never seen bloom – it gets pretty tulip-like flowers. The other tree has broad waxy canoe shaped leaves and these enormous white flowers that look like globes when they’re closed and open up with silky cup like petals. Yesterday, as I walked through the park, I again looked at these trees. I pulled out my phone – I had to look up the waxy-leafed tree. To my delight, I learned it was a magnolia – that emblem of the south. I never knew what one looked like. Having a name for it was like unlocking the secrets of the park. Suddenly I wanted to sit under it, because it sounds so nice to say sitting in the deep shade of the magnolia tree high above the river below. You can bet your ass I’ll be using that somewhere. Knowing this little park exists makes Memphis feel like a special place, and I can see why “Memphis in May” is a tag line and a thing here.
I walked back from Martyrs Park, went up Beale Street to Main Street hung a right and headed away from my apartment. I wound my way back down to river again to repeat some of my loop and eventually went home.
The other post I was going to write yesterday was about how to enjoy being alone (or why it’s important). My friend in Omaha and I had a long text debate about this. She insists she will never be happy alone. I can honestly say, that until this last year, I had never given the topic much thought. The closest I came to really thinking deeply about it was on a hike in the Smoky Mountains when I too decided I don’t want to be alone and that life is meant to be shared. On the one hand, I agree with my friend – life is better with someone else. But on the other, I’m seeing the benefits of learning to find happiness where I am (regardless of whether I’m alone or not). These past few months have been some of the more profoundly observant and creative months of my life. I don’t doubt that they will be valuable in whatever comes next. I used to think that being unemployed heading in to a pandemic was terrible timing, but the two events have conspired to give me the type of time and space so few people have. As we texted, I could sense my friend was getting defensive and digging in – saying she doesn’t like that she feels defective just because she doesn’t like being alone. I can understand where she’s coming from, therapists and psychology and the world in general all say that we shouldn’t fear being alone. Unfortunately, in the moment, being told to learn to be happy with being alone can make you feel worse if you don’t like being alone. I tried to frame it differently. That if we can enjoy being alone (a baseline), having someone to share experiences with will only make it better. She wasn’t buying it. I tried one more time by saying that we have 70 or 80 years here on this planet. Most of us would like to spend as much of our time as possible being happy. There are lots of things that make people happy. For some it’s money, for some it’s a partner, for some it’s adventures and travel, for some it’s playing video games. The more we can enjoy any and all of these things, the more options we have. Nobody will be able to play video games their entire life. Nobody will have the company of someone else their entire life. Learning to be happy alone is just one more tool in the toolbox, like learning to enjoy cooking or shopping or anything else. Again, she wasn’t buying it. I ended by suggesting that she consider accepting that anything she desires necessarily comes with flip side which is the disappointment of not having it. It makes sense to want someone else…. but we can’t have everything we want all of the time.
No doubt, I carried some of that conversation with me on my walk. I felt real joy walking by the magnolia trees, and no sooner had I left and walked past the honeysuckles and down the hill, I thought, “I wish I had someone to share the simple magic of that moment with. It’d be nice to do the whole picnic thing there.” I think, one of the true benefits of being alone (at least for me) will be the greater appreciation I’ll have for when I’m not alone. I think these are some of the thoughts and feelings that bled in to my evening – sentiments that made me remember, as I warmed the plate of tortillas in the toaster oven, of how my ex-fiancee, B, used to always warm the plates before serving dinner (a nice touch that was part of her charm). The Roger Waters song….
After a near miss on the plane
You swear you’ll never fly again
After the first kiss when you make up
You swear you’ll never break up again
And when you’ve just run a red light
Sit shaking under the street light
You swear to yourself you’ll never drink and drive again
Sometimes I feel like going home
You swear you’ll never let things go by again.
Sometimes I miss the rain and snow
And you’ll never toe the party line again
And when the east wind blows
Sometimes I feel like going home
Instead of writing about all of the above, I spent the evening looking for jobs – there’s one in Arizona I might apply to, but otherwise, not much that seemed appropriate. As I look, I’m constantly trying to envision whether or not I could emotionally survive there. Will it have enough beauty to fill my days (be it people, nature, vibrancy, adventure, proximity, or simplicity)? I went to bed feeling pretty drained. I woke up at five this morning heavy-hearted from a dream….
I had trouble finding the bathroom. That’s why I was the last of my group to arrive. I think we were late. Just as I was getting there, she was ecstatic about having been given passes (or gift cards), a handful of them, to the new George Otten restaurant. She was wearing a cream colored dress, nearly white, just below knee length. It twirled as she moved and reminded me of something from a movie. A movie in which the starlet played a former high school prom queen all-American type of girl next door from a different era. She had strawberry blond hair in wavy loose curls that glinted and bounced in the light. It was a party – a country club weekend – perhaps our wedding reception, or a shower just before, or an anniversary. We were the hosts. I had taken a group of guests off to play pool in a dimly lit club with hues of red and purple. I drank more than I should have – which was why I needed to use the bathroom. It was as if the venue had moved it (the bathroom). And instead of a bathroom, it was more like a porta potty. There were two other guys in there. I think there was piss on the floor, my pant cuffs dragged in it a bit. My group wasn’t late, or maybe a few minutes. I was surprised she started without me. She always lit up around her friends and playing the hostess.
It might have been an anniversary party. The lights were bright – people were gathered around the edges of a room that had large glass windows overlooking the grass and walkway that lead down to the golf course. I think there was a golf course. Maybe the room was one of those big white walled tents. There was an element of the outside (I was walking up an outside walk), and a clear delineation of outside space and inside space – accessible to each other – as though a wall were missing. It was warm, the sun was still out but sinking. That’s where I first saw her – in that between inside and outside space, excitedly talking to and greeting the guests who were walking in ahead of me. Telling them, “we just started, and I got the most amazing gift….. 10 passes to the new George Otten restaurant.” She loved his restaurants. As I approached, there was a cold moment of recognition from afar. When she saw me, a little disheveled, her entire demeanor changed. She was no longer talking in excited tones, she was no longer whisking about the room and the other guests, her twirl was gone and her shoulders dropped low with the tempo and volume of her voice. Her voice trailed off, as if she had just realized she’d have to go to the restaurant with me. I think I heard her offer the gift cards to someone else “I really don’t need these, I don’t know when I’d ever get to use them.”
She sat down next to me. I put my hand on her back and asked “how’s it going? What’d you get?” She pulled away slightly and said “nothing too exciting.” I tried again with my hand, a touch of reassurance and connection and the unspoken question “is everything ok?” She said “I don’t think now’s a good time.” I took my hand away. A minute later she got up and walked over to one of her friends, talked to her the way a good hostess might and then took a seat on the opposite side of the room. It wasn’t a look of anger, but of extreme disappointment. Either that or she simply wasn’t happy to see me, and because of this, would never be happy to see me.
In the dream I might have taken on the history and characteristics of the typical drunk spouse, always home later than when he said he would be. That look of disappointment on her face was deeply felt. It was the look that said “how could you?” or “of all the times” or “I don’t know who you’ve become.” It made me wonder what had come before… I was pretty sure I knew what came next. I think I was the one who went to the lawyer – I don’t know if it was an attempt to preempt or to simply give her what she had been wanting but not asking for – the freedom to be happy and with her friends and the people who made her shine. And at some point, I thought maybe she saw me walking up putting my wedding ring back on…. I had been fidgeting with it ever since leaving the bathroom. Maybe that’s what caused the change. Watching the effervescence drain – from this person, from the room, from the event… that’s what struck me most when I woke up and started to write all of this down.
It’s still early. I’ve put off having my second cup. I wasn’t going to write about those strange mixed feelings last night. I wasn’t going to write about the benefits of being alone. But then a dream woke me up with the heaviness as though all of it was real. A subconscious and sleepy playing out of mixed emotions. A dreamed party and dissolution. The look of disappointment that only a lover can give. A real park with wonderful magnolia trees that is beautiful and yet commemorates so many lives lost. A day in which I experienced the full range of emotions associated with being alone.