all the time.

The light falls early now and it is suddenly cold. I am walking home from work in the dark and going out for long runs under the glow of streetlights. The gray light and short days bring a sort of melancholy, but I will always love the slow walk home, the tip of my nose cold, the stamp of my boots on the sidewalk. The houses all have big windows filled with big lights and shelves of books. There's no window at my house, but the light is just as warm.

The thing about a city that always gnaws at me is how easy it is to become cold. Not physically cold, emotionally cold. It is easy to keep people at a distance. I know there are plenty of small towns deep inside big cities, but also there are so many people around all the time that you can't survive without ignoring a few. I am on the quiet and shy side and tend toward fearfulness, so it's easy for me to be suspicious of the stranger who strikes up a conversation in the grocery line. He asked, Are you a vegetarian? You buy healthy food. I said, No, but my boyfriend is. Then I took a long step forward to end the conversation.

But he crept right up behind me and asked, Which one of you cooks? I answered, We both do. And then he told me how he used to cook when he was young, before he met his wife. I did it out of necessity. You know, I had to eat something. But then he met his wife, who was the best cook he had ever known, and he didn't need to cook anymore. I looked at his groceries spread on the belt: cans of Hormel chili, bottles of Pellegrino, one loaf of white bread. I blinked, I understood, I smiled. He smiled back. I picked up my bag and said, Have a good one, and then I left.

Several weeks ago, I heard Langhorne Slim play a show. Somewhere in the middle, during a pause in a song, he said,

Fuck the fear. Be here.*

Someone lovely asked me about heartbreak. There was a time when I thought my breaking heart would be the story of my life. I guess I've learned otherwise. We just don't know, really we don't, if someone will hurt us or leave us or be taken away from us. Even right now, in this very minute, it makes me afraid. But it's the world we live in and there's nothing for it but to go on. At any rate, my story or your story is much larger than the breaking and bleeding and mending and healing. There is much more to tell. I may have some real advice, which I will have to think up, but in the meantime, I recommend Langhorne's advice. After all, here is really the only place we can be.

And might I add, to you friendly souls who come here and read things, thank you for saying hello and thank you for reading. Words are lonely and I need (some days desperately) to be reminded that they are worth something. Of course they are, but we all need telling.

*I am always terribly afraid of who might be offended by what I say here. I have thought about what Langhorne said for weeks and I wanted to share. I was afraid, I didn't want to offend anyone...but then I took his advice.