Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? It’s me, that is, you, calling from the future – not so distant but who’s counting as we edge closer to forty – to tell you: Drink more water. And please eat the cake. Tell people you love them, and share what you like. Getting laughed at isn’t so bad. Remember that time we forgot that thing? Yeah, that really important thing? Turns out, it wasn’t so important after all. Funny how that happens. I wish I could say in sentences that make sense and feel complete that I’m proud of us, even though we often forget to eat. (You should probably work on that.) That we should sing more and worry less. That it’s okay we can’t ride a bike. (No, you still haven’t tried to learn. No, you don’t really care.) And your hair? Luxurious. Leave it. (And say thank you for the compliment, instead of just nodding your head, awkwardly.) You’re not a mess. At least, not any more than anyone else. We’re all just out here, pretending to know what we’re doing, even after all these years. So don’t let fear get in your way, okay? Okay? If I had more time… Can you… I’m losing… …just one…thing … …
I’ve built my house, on a bed of dreams, a million little hopeful timbers, with nails made of joy and grief. Life takes hold of us that way, you know – the sweet made sweeter by bitter loss, the loss made better by the time that came before. Funny, that I didn’t even realize, how the building and building never felt like a chore. And now, my house moves with me wherever I go, but also stands forever at a crossroads, a perpetual choice between this and that or that or that. And though it doesn’t matter, I wonder: How many lives have I not chosen?
It’s a new week, and a new month! I’ll have a short story out on Wednesday (April’s, just a little late), and in the meantime, I’m playing catch-up from our weekend with family (which was lovely and, as usual, too short). It’s looking to be a busy week, and you know, I’m really fine with that. I always feel like I have more energy and more determination in spring. It’s like watching the earth come alive again makes me feel more alive, too.
So, onward! And here’s a poem to get the week started. 😊 Happy creating, y’all!
Lady May (A Poem)
Crowned in flowers and robed in sunshine, Lady May walks now from slope to valley, forest to river to field and pasture. And in her dewy wake, she lines them with color, paints them green and blue and pink and white, bright yellow and regal lavender, and leaves behind the joy and hope of a world come alive once more.
You see, I told the cat that we have things to do today. And what did he have to say? Nothing, because he is still fast asleep, monopolizing my lap. Priorities… So, I suppose the work can wait. After all, what’s a little procrastinating between feline and friend?
You’re talking to me, I know, and I sort of, mostly hear you. See, I’m not quite here (though not quite not) – I’m somewhere else, far away right in front of you. It’s not one place, so I can’t tell you where, or when, or exactly how I came to be there. Or even, truthfully, when I might be back. You’re frustrated, I can tell, but just consider this: How wonderful to travel without tickets or borders or worries about time and money and a place to stay. I’m lucky, I think. Now… …what did you say?
How funny, to race against a stationary object, as if time cares about our projects and our deadlines. The clock ticks and tocks – it does not see or know or participate in the too-fast days of our lives. And really, we build them that way, don’t we? We fight with the never-ending turning of the globe, like boxers in a celestial ring, but the ring is empty, save for us and all of our to-do lists. Wouldn’t it be nice, then, to just stop – not the clock, but ourselves – and insist on a slower pace? And why don’t we? I mean, seriously, who ever made the rule that busy is better? I’d rather not be, thank you. I’m not mad, exactly, but I do think this is bad. See, the work will truly always be here. But I won’t.
All around, I hear it: The hum of new life – of growing things, buzzing and flying, a gentle flap of beating wings, the stir of wind through the blossoms – this song that each year nature sings. It seems that here, in a season and a blur, no more than a blink, we are suddenly, all of us, ready for spring.
I mean, sure, of course I want to win. But, it’s just as fun to lose when losing is still learning and learning is knowing and knowledge is power. And when I think of how much I know now that I didn’t know before, I’m happy that my hobby is a trivial kind of pursuit.