I often find that reflection leads to deeper reflection. For me, it also tends to see-saw between seemingly contradictory ideas and feelings. I was struggling this morning to write about how I feel like I should be doing more… I can’t even define the context. The impetus came from thinking about how I’ll describe this time period in some distant future, my “where were you when” moment… I didn’t like the answer. I sat at home. I didn’t help anyone. I didn’t even help myself. I used the premise of spiritual waiting as a crutch, as a justification for inaction.
For much of my life, I’ve been taught that self-reflection is of little use – especially if not backed up by the great minds who have all grappled with these very same thoughts. There’s a logic to it. What can I possibly discover inside that hasn’t already been thought about and written about? This leads to feeling a bit of shame for using my time the way I’ve been using it. Page after page of nothing new or original. Pages of lamentation and what, at times, feels like whining. And yet, here I am.
After writing this morning, I read the novel I had started the other day. It’s quite good. At one point it referenced “Let It Be” by the Beatles and I paused to give it a listen (it’s been a while). The piano in the beginning sounds like a processional for a wedding or graduation. A few different emotions hit me at once. It hurt to count myself among the brokenhearted people of the world, but there was also a sense of peace in the almost silly and simplistic refrain… and though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see. There will be an answer….let it be. I was suddenly thankful to my parents for introducing me to the Beatles at such a young age. I was curious about how a line in a book could send me to a song that could then take me in different directions. Art can be pretty amazing in that respect… it can walk with you, run with you, take you somewhere new or somewhere familiar and comfortable, it can break you down and build you up… it can reflect and instruct. Writing about it now, I’m not sure I had spent as much time just stopped and thinking about things like art, beauty, peace, love, the world…. I’m not sure I was ever as open to this type of thinking nor as emotionally triggered by it. I can’t help but to credit that duality of love and loss for having etched new depths in the mind, heart, and soul.
I carried some of the lighter feelings with me throughout much of the day. I looked for jobs, read the news, exercised, etc. etc. At times I thought about the possibility of moving to another city, and was surprisingly ok with it. I also thought about what really starting over might look and feel like, as if this might have been a test run, a holding pattern of sorts – a place where I could wait. I thought about the possibility of dating and getting in to another relationship. I was surprised at just how ok I am with not doing any of that. I became a little surprised by what felt like some flexibility and ease with not knowing where the road goes. I thought a little bit about how this was how I felt with my fiancee, B – that we could have gone anywhere and done anything and been happy together. It was nice to feel some of that optimism knowing that I’m flying solo. Now I’m thinking that I can live this life that I’m living anywhere and be just as happy as I am now. On and off I’ve been redefining the term neediness to want-iness. I didn’t need what we had, I absolutely wanted it.
Admittedly, one challenge in conceptualizing moving on is that you always have to move on from something. Even the phoenix in its great rebirth comes from the ashes of the past. Unfortunately, the light feeling of letting go didn’t last in to tonight. I sat to read some more. This time, it was passages in the book about mothers who lost their sons. My friend Katherine texted me a picture of the gorgeous sunset over the river. Google reminded me that a year ago B and I went to a charity fundraiser for United Way and that three years ago I used to exchange photos (every few days) with my friend Jen. As I read, I listened to the sirens in the distance. I hear them probably about every hour or two, sometimes every half- hour. It made me think back to living with B in Philly. I was trying to remember if we heard sirens as often as I do now. I thought about how much I enjoyed city life with her – even the pain in the ass parts of it. It made me think about our nightly routines, saying goodnight to the dog, closing the blinds, cold feet under the covers. There’s something about hearing sirens in the night that makes you want to draw closer to someone else – enjoy the comfort of their presence as you hear the calamities of the world outside. It’s a sort of insulation against the world. More often than not, she was a source of comfort. I gave Nick a few head rubs, but all he wants to do is sleep. I thought some more about the sirens – do I want a city life?
When earlier I was feeling almost proud to face the unknown like some grand new adventure, tonight I wanted to ask questions, get advice, approach it as a team. I no longer wanted to go it alone and instead wanted my companion. And my questions weren’t all about the future. From time to time, there are lots of questions that I’d love to ask B – my curiosity never really went away. I’d like to know more about her mom, specifically some of the things she really liked about her. I’d like to know more about the timeline there at the end – the child, R, her mom. I’d like to know more about 2011 and her writing – why it stopped. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to understand someone so deeply. For her, that probably contributed to the feeling of being trapped or under a microscope.
It’s odd to go from feeling like you’re almost there, almost free to feeling like nope – still in that same place. That was the see-saw, teeter-totter of my day.
And when the night is cloudy,
there is still a light that shines on me
Shine on ‘til tomorrow
Let it be
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom let be…
…
There will be an answer
Let it be.