The days slide in to each other… this was happening before the pandemic, but I still kept time of weekends based on being able to do a bit more. Now very few things distinguish one day from the next. It’s like being in the shower and getting so caught up in a thought that I can’t remember if I washed my hair, but on a daily or weekly level. I could have sworn that I spent time writing a post this morning – turns out that I didn’t. I thought about taking a few days off from the blog, not necessarily writing, but just the blog. I’m still trying to balance input (living life) and output (writing). I might still pause, but for now, there’s this.
It got up to 80 degrees here in Memphis. I wonder if that’s warm enough to slow the VID. Apparently that’s what all the kids are calling it these days, and if they’re not, they should be. 80 degree means people were outside in larger numbers. The park I go to was still pretty empty when I went for a run this morning. By the time I went for a walk in the early evening, it had started to fill up. By sunset (I was keeping a safe distance) the police were closing the park down and telling people to disperse. I got a few good pics of the sun setting over the mighty Mississippi.
Earlier in the day, post run and just after lunch, or something like that – I honestly can’t remember the order of things, maybe it was post lifting and pre run… I spent some time on the balcony reading, and doing a little writing. For one reason or another I thought about my friend Molly and the house we rented in Virginia for a weekend of hanging out and hiking. I was probably thinking about how someone on one of the other balconies here was smoking pot and how outside time here in an apartment will be so different from sitting on my deck in Yardley, and considerably more different than the house by the meadow Molly and I stayed in – it was dead quiet, there was no light pollution, and we just sat drinking and talking with the crickets and fireflies. As I try to figure out the type of life I want, I can’t tell which one is more appealing to me, city or country. They both have their charms. Both are inspirational. I think I lean towards country, a yard, and bbq – with access to the city. Or maybe as a single guy, it’s city until I settle down with someone who also wants to get away. Getting away seems more enjoyable when two people are planning the the escape, a mutual salvation of sorts.
Thinking about that weekend in Virginia, I was trying to remember some of the details. The dusty road, the outside shower, the rustic kitchen. My friends thought I was crazy for going – mostly because Molly and I didn’t really know each other. We had met one day while I was on my road trip through Tennessee. We were standing in line together to tour Ruby Falls. We toured the caverns together and decided to go get some BBQ. We stayed in touch through facebook and text. A month or two later, we decided to meet up half way between Tennessee and Pennsylvania. The place we stayed at was ridiculously secluded in a small meadow down a country road in the middle of nowhere. I suppose it’s a good thing neither of us were killers.
I tried to write a bit about the experience, but instead turned it in to a poem about the things we don’t overshare with our partners. The past that we hide, not out of shame, but because we know our partners have similar experiences and maybe it’s just uncomfortable to go there.
Since getting divorced, I’ve lived my life like an open book (or so I’ve tried). I sometimes question the wisdom of doing that. Am I robbing someone else the joy of getting to know me? And I say that with all humility – I’m not sure there’s a ton of joy to be had in getting to know me… but I think the discovery process is part of falling in love. If I met someone tomorrow and they read this blog, would some of the potential magic be gone? There’s a beauty in seeing a flower open up (not that I’m a flower). There’s a beauty in holding back.
I paused here mid post to look at whatever messages I have on a few dating apps. I honestly don’t know why I still check, other than thinking someone might surprise me – my ex, B, did, to some degree a recent online encounter with a woman in Omaha did. This got me thinking about what I’m looking for. Adorable – not hot, but a beauty that comes through in warmth and cuteness. But also a sense of easiness. I know – I won’t know that unless I go out with someone… but it’s important to me (and a lot of people). You just want to feel like you’re with your best friend and everything is easy. As often as I’ve written about our struggles, most days (at least for me) felt really easy – like where has this person been all my life – how did we not find each other sooner type of easy. I think B felt it too. It was frighteningly easy to be together – sometimes things maybe are too good to be true… or we convince ourselves of that or we take it for granted…. Maybe that’s where the open book part isn’t so great. It’s my nature to see as many sides of things as I can – which include all of the qualifiers. This is really nice, but…. Can’t say I care for this, but…. Maybe I can learn that not everything needs to be said.
In the early evening, I guess around 4pm, I went out for a long walk through town, along the river, back along the river and back through town – I probably walked four or five miles, maybe six. Part way through my walk I stopped and sat on a bench. I took the earbuds out and just wanted to take in the river and the sounds. I sat there for close to an hour. I’m hoping to make a poem about it. I suppose it was a sort of active meditation – with frequent pauses to jot down sights and sounds. It felt nice to have the sun on my face. Beats work any day. I need to frown less – to not have that 11 show between my brows – a lifetime of being serious.
As gorgeous as today was, and as calm as the night was (salad, pasta, wine, music) I’m thinking it’s time to get to it and figure some things out. I’m starting to feel like a different life might be calling me. Not many things have worked out lately. At some point, something has to stick, right? Somewhere, something will start to feel like home again? On my way back to the apartment, I stopped at the corner store to get salad mix and some dressing. I was suddenly reminded of B’s haphazard homemade dressing that she was always way too critical of (I loved it every time – I didn’t pay attention to whether or not it was too tart, I just appreciated that she made it). After dinner, I contemplated writing that poem, the one about salad dressing, the one about home – the epic of the everyday. Maybe like forgetting if I washed my hair, I’ll realize I’ve already written it a dozen different ways, or maybe like the days and weeks, I’ll let it slide in to the next, or maybe like past truths, I’ll hold it back, save it for some future discovery, some future version of us.