one night.

We are always walking when we don’t know what to do. I am always walking when I have nowhere to go. To sit still somewhere is too painful in loneliness or boredom, and so the walking. And so we were walking.

I like to take things in. I look and look and look and think. He likes to poke his head inside places. I would never go in alone. I would just look and think.

Last night, we decided we both needed to go to the Gap. New shirt, new pants. We rode the train up to that part of town where nothing is open on the weekend, and when we got off we realized - nothing is open here on the weekend. The Gap was closed. And that is when we started walking. We walked by a Thai restaurant. He asked, Remember the time we ate there? And I answered, We’ve never eaten there. One of us was confused, but no one gave in and no one was wrong. We walked by an art gallery with a small sign and a big wood and glass door. He tried the doorknob and it was locked. He held a finger over a doorbell and looked to me. A woman appeared and swung the door open. She told us the gallery had just closed, but she was there and we might as well look. So we did.

The gallery was showing the work of Lukman Ahmad. Some of it was gray and yellow and dramatic. Some of it was bright blocks of color and horses. I liked the colors, Jake liked the drama. The woman asked us what art we were drawn to and I didn’t answer. I smiled because I don’t know how to talk about art. Jake told her that he worked in theater and I was a writer. She asked if we were new in town. He told her I had just moved from Boston. She told me she had moved from Boston thirty years ago and she was still here. We laughed and we left.

don't apologize.

I'm living in a place right now that, by a few blocks, is removed from city noises. I knew, but didn't realize, in fact until this very moment, how much I missed the quiet. The sun fell slowly tonight and I didn't realize it was getting dark until I caught myself squinting at the screen. The lamp nearby is on a timer - it should switch on soon. In the meantime, I am sitting in the dark, squinting and waiting. I'm listening to a cricket here and a cricket there, soft rise and fall chorus chirping in the dusk.

The moment feels very holy to me, by which I mean sacred, by which I mean full of life and the awareness of its movement and passing. It also feels holy because it reminds me of many other similar moments, and these are the moments that make up my life, and as Sugar says, my becoming.

I have said before, I think, that I find it much easier to write abstractly about life rather than my life. The details and specifics and all that nonsense are too jarringly real sometimes to put into words. It is a handy way to protect myself and a handy way to be a bit lazy about the way I write. I've said it before but may as well remind myself: less mushy abstract, more tangible and real.

People of the Midwest have a nasty habit of apologizing often, all the time, for everything. I know because I come from the Midwest and I saw it all the time growing up. I do it myself and so does Jacob and we both come from the Midwest.

shining moment of life.

I remember, nearly one year ago, telling myself to just begin. Just begin. Hard words to heed. Just begin. It’s time to begin again? It’s time to begin again.

Stopping me are these things:
Fear, Embarrassment, Disappointment, Distraction, Powerlessness.

Those are things but they are only things.

Bear with me on this one. It might be messy. When you tear out your second beating heart, as Sugar so wisely advises, and slap it all over the page, it’s going to be messy. And the first cranks of the rusty gears are awkward. The first steps when your foot has gone to sleep. Saying I love you when your mouth hasn’t formed those words in a long time. You just do it however you can. It gets better.

I am thinking a lot of things these days. Quite a lot. I feel the rush of wind coming up from the canyon. You feel it on the edge. You feel it when you’re about to jump. Not the jump to fall, but the jump to see.

Ask me anything. I’m thinking too much lately. I might have the answers. I might not. I probably don’t. But I can fake it.

Who might I be letting down? Do you wonder that sometimes? Probably, most likely, usually, always, there is someone. But best to soldier on anyway.

clearly.

I can't seem to find the right frame of mind lately. When you're the sort of person who lives by routine and familiarity, and when that gets all thrown out, I guess the wires get crossed for awhile.

So tonight, I only want to tell you this one thing: there are a lot of different forms to beauty in this world. It isn't only a thing you see, it doesn't always make you catch your breath. Sometimes it's a group of women who are struggling with things you can't even imagine, but they care about each other and they love each other and they form a community. Sometimes that community is very beautiful. Sometimes it's looking down at the rug by the door and seeing one large pair of shoes next to one small pair of shoes. Sometimes seeing those shoes at home together is very beautiful. Sometimes loss and absence is beautiful because, in the loss, you are able to see what goodness and blessing you've had. And still have.

I saw a man in an important looking suit on Capitol Hill today. He was was sitting in the park. All of the benches were full, so he was sitting on the thick, low-hanging branch of a tree. Shiny shoes and jacket slung aside. He was rolling a cigarette. It was hot, but not in the shade where he sat.

And that was beautiful too.

more writing.

I'm always terrible at marking change in my life. My childhood journals are full of page after page of monotony, but the significant moments are curiously absent. On through my teenage years and college. I am inspired to write about the color of the leaves but incapable of writing when I move or fall in love or suffer a broken heart.

There is distant thunder tonight, the kind that sounds vaguely reminiscent of footsteps upstairs. The kind that makes you say in your head, over and over, Oh it's just the thunder. And it is mixing with some pre-holiday fireworks. And those are mixing with a small bit of rain. And that is mixing with cats racing up and down the stairs after me, tiny claws and feet on wood, skittering.

I moved last weekend to a new city. I started a new job. I took up with a good man who loves me. It was a big weekend.

I don't want to write about it because, in my old way, I can't conjure up the words. It's too much, or it means too much, or something. But I bargained with myself tonight: You can eat that second piece of cheese, but then you must writing something.

So I have done my part.

I'm sorry for another absence, but it couldn't be helped. I will be back again. Nearly one year ago, I resolved to write on this blog. I'm working on a goal list for this year. Bigger and better but mostly just more. More writing. More.