I write this from my home, in the small town my Consort and I planted ourselves in through the Pandemic. I’ve scrolled my Facebook feed to find that there are people that show me up with their gratitude, having been ill, fighting the fight. It was a rotten past year for me as well, many life changes all at once and I hid them Oh So Well.
I’m reminded by poet, Wendell Berry’s lines that “it may be when we no longer know what to do, we come to our real work and that when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.”
Baffled! Impeded stream! That’s ME!
Dear, Reader, though I have a lot of faith I have always been fearful. This fear is in my DNA—I was an egg inside my mother during WWII as she escaped the Gulag in Siberia and trekked through Soviet Central Asia. The fear is imbedded in every cell. There is me and then there is my bodyguard, Fear. It chased me down from the Big City to the Country in 2021. Also: my only new friend here suddenly died. We’re all going to die. It’s just awful. I didn’t agree to this.
Before all the changes, I had been obsessed with grey hair blending and obsessing over my paunchy stomach. My Consort is tired, so tired of my weariness. So much so, that to amuse me he shared a Facebook reel of an ape that reminded him of me. It suspiciously eyed a container of berries until he carefully tasted one only to devour all. Men used to tell me I looked like Suzanne Somers or Morgan Fairchild. Now I bear a striking resemblance to a Howler Monkey. How did this happen? I used to be so charming.
So—I’ve decided to put my feet forward. I’ve mourned leaving the City, losing my friend, and my youthful glory. Change is a constant. To redefine ourselves is difficult. We have been fooled into feeling protected by Wayfair and Pottery Barn boxes in an HGTV World. Then something happens that truly sucks and we’re in a new box. I mourn but I’ve discovered that I don’t have to get dramatic with it. I don’t have to lay down on the grave. I’ve decided I want my lovable self-back. I need to hang around my cat.
Beyond professional achievement is a need to re-balance the soul. When all seems lost something new is conjured— slowly cooking a meal—painting a picture—small accomplishments, hidden ones—appear. The chance to write for a magazine.
It’s time for our friends. Those still around to tell us to snap out of it. New friends to be made. Partners to be appreciated.
Someone likes and wants you. As is. Sit down with me. Would you like a nice cup of coffee?
