Somewhere Else

He made everything easier, just for a moment. When Laura asks me what I miss, this is what I tell her. And she answers--kindly, gently--a day away and an ocean between us: And hope too, I think. 

The presence of another person, the continued conversation, the hope that it might be something more. He made New York nearly tolerable. But maybe New York isn't meant to be nearly tolerable. Maybe there is someplace better, with someone who, if not better, is at least more right. 

But for a moment there, the conversation with him was comfortable and good. I won't say I miss him (even though I do) because it feels like there is a limit to the time we afford grief when the thing was barely a thing. And it's not so much grief as an occasional dull ache, and I don't know how much of it is him, and how much is just life. But I am quite sure I have passed the imaginary threshold of the time allowed and so I won't say that I miss him (but I do). In part because I don't want him to know, but then again, it's not for him that I say it, but for me.  

We were fine and then we were busy and then we were not fine. A story in three parts. 

But I am okay. And he made New York manageable, and I cannot have a man doing that when it is so clearly time to go. I've never known a day of my adult life in a city outside of this one. And I think, maybe, it's time to figure out who I am somewhere else. Not today, but tomorrow maybe, or next week, or well...sometime soon. 

image source unknown.

What I'm Looking For...

People often ask what I'm looking for in a man. For a very long time I listed the following: kind, funny, intelligent. And if I I could be really picky: tall, with a nice head of hair. 

But the older I get, the wiser I am (sort of). And so this is what I say now: 

1. Is he good? Is he a good man? Is the core of him--the mettle of him--good? Which is different than mere kindness, it's rounder, sturdier. For me now, all affection begins and ends with the other person's goodness. Charm and personality and charisma, intelligence and drive and humor are all lovely, lovely things. But they don't mean much unless they're built on a solid foundation.

2. Can he admit fault? Admit he was wrong?

and 3. Can he apologize?

Just because a man is good doesn't mean 2. and 3. come easily to him. And I gotta tell you, 2. and 3. didn't come easily to me. But I watched enough people struggle with those two things to realize that to not be able to do them is 1. ugly 2. prohibitive and 3. reveals insecurities faster than anything else. And that the more you do them, the easier they become. I'm not talking about a pushover, I'm talking about a person who can argue and actually listen to the other points being made. A person who can offer kindness and empathy because he's not so mired in his own shit. Someone who can ride the wave instead of being dragged under by it. Those two things are actually about the ability to adapt. And the older (and wiser) I get, the more I understand Darwin was on to something with adaptation. It's a valuable, valuable thing.

For when you forget...

Plastic surgery doesn’t age well, ever. Put your phone down. Daydream about the good things. Always keep a good book in your purse--it's both a secret and an escape plan, two good things to have. Make the bed. Hold the door open for strangers. Smile. Look other people in the eye. So, you’re scared? Good, fear indicates worth. And guess what? Everyone is afraid. Which means fear doesn’t absolve you from the attempt, or the conversation, or the adventure. You can always try again--good people are pretty marvelous about the whole forgiveness thing. And, oh yeah, put your phone down! Eat greens. And toasted pine nuts. Ask yourself if it will add value to your life--will it be good for you? Prioritize your health--and happiness too, because life is short. Humility, humility, humility. And kindness. Words are important, so don’t give them away too carelessly. Honesty above all else. And the music of Billy Joel. Peonies, when they’re in season. A clean purse. Write. Write more. Chip, chip, chip away at a body of work. Not everyone is good. The core of a very many people is a rotted root. And that’s just... well, unfortunately, that's just the way it is. Offer them kindness and then walk away. You cannot save people, you can only live your life the best you know how, with a strong set of values and a clear set of boundaries. Values are strong trees that bend in high winds--trust their ability to adapt. We get better when we risk, and grow, and move forward. Beliefs can change. The story of God has a whole heck of a lot to do with humanity and forgiveness and love and love and love. A lot of things are contagious--fear and anxiety and ideas, even. Keep your door open because that’s who you are. Take the twenty minute walk because that’s who you are. Small revolutions are born of small, everyday actions. The current can change. And occasionally a plant will thrive where you least expect it to, it’s green leaves sprouting new buds, growing wide and tall in defiance of your expectations.

What I'm Listening to // Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr.

The lyrics of this song gut me: "I guess I've been bruised, if we were to speak plain." I'm a sucker for monosyllabic words--especially in music. So I'm revisiting this song and thought I'd share.

less. (thoughts on surrounding yourself with only those things you really love)

I live in a small room, in a house--an actual house. This is a relatively odd situation to be in by New York standards. But it works for me, I like it. 

I don't own a lot. None of the furniture is mine. There is a desk and a bookshelf and a dresser and I've painted them all, adding a fine gloss atop (which has yellowed, much to my consternation). There is a bed on top of which I've placed one of those three-inch-foam-topper-thing-a-majigs that sometimes wakes me up in the middle of the night because I've sunk so far into it that I cannot turn over. I changed the dresser knobs and have painted the cheap planters that the succulents come in black--no need to buy proper pots for them. 

There is no closet, which is probably my biggest complaint, but it means I keep my wardrobe neat and whittled on the small rack just to the right of the desk. 

I got rid of so much last year and I am so, so, so very glad that I did. But if I'm really honest I'm deeply ashamed of how much I accumulated in the first place. I think about those things still. I do not miss them--it's not that I miss them, it's that I worry about where they are now. I wonder who went into goodwill and purchased them and I hope plenty of people did, but I am more upset by how much I surely added to a landfill somewhere in the world. And as global warming is one of those things that I think about when that three-inch-foam-thing-a-majig wakes me up at night, well...I don't ever want to accumulate so much again. 

More is not more. More as an ill that I'm no longer interested in. And let me level with you, once you've had bedbugs to the extent that your life is upended and you are faced with the overwhelming task of getting rid of them (the laundry and the cleaning that then ensues), well, you look at your stuff differently. You think...do I love this? Is this worth all the work of ensuring it is absent of those impossible critters? So now I stand in stores before I buy a thing and I think, if I found myself in that situation again, would this be worth the work (and money) of saving it? And that question is an incredible litmus test. I now have only three pairs of flats I love. I wear them in rotation. I have one pair of fancy high-heels that I think go with everything and will be worn to all weddings from here until the end of time. And a pair of solid tennis shoes. That's enough. 

I have two pillows on my bed. Both are for sleeping. I went quite a while with only one, but broke down in recent months and bought one for a guy. Turns out he doesn't need it, but it's probably good to have. There is nothing decorative on my bed. 

Plants and nice candles with recyclable glass jars and artwork. That's how I'm building my small home these days. Investing in things that will not end up in a landfill. Investing in things that don't weight me down--things that when I look at I am reminded of who I am and what I believe and what I love. Small things that fill me with great joy. 

Less is as it turns out quite a bit more. 

**(this is a lovely read about this very idea)**