Those little bits

12 Mar

wpid-vzm.img_20150307_154638.jpgIn my twenties, all was effervescence and need and passion and instinct and there was never a safety net. Friendship or bust! We held our hands out, wiggling our fingers, and held on. For a Very.Long.Time.

New friendship is more challenging. More intentional.

* * * * *

I open my heart to the world these days in the safest place I know – a theater kid on the digital stage – but in real life? There’s an acronym for it now: IRL …

A wholly different terrain.

Starts and stops. Trusting. And not trusting, too.

* * * * *

I remember my friend C from high school. I remember her often. My first love. For months, I longed to see the journal she shared with her dearest friends. She bared herself on the page; I knew this instinctively. I wanted her to let me in. I remember the day she handed it to me, allowed me to hold its soft cover, to inhale its pages. I remember placing it in my backpack, terrified it might come to harm in my possession, placing it between my books, concealing it with clothes and papers, desperate to hold it close and surround it with softness, understanding she had handed me her heart.

* * * * *

A log tumbles off the pile. Sparks fly, contained in the fireplace, the place for fire. What happens when … the fire is too big? When the place where wood is meant to ignite and burn is too small?

* * * * *

We are sitting in my daughter’s cello lesson, her hair in two front braids, her feet in two purposely mismatched socks flat on the floor, and she is taking her teacher’s instruction, adjusting her hold on the bow – hard, but she’s staying with it, her teacher lately finding ways to bring her attention back to the present, the music, the lesson. I sit nearby, taking mental notes to remind her when she practices at home to hold the bow the way her teacher showed her on this wintry sunny day while the police cars clustered outside the window and she listened, turned her head away from the disruption, and played.

* * * * *

Dig deep. Fall hard. Breathe. Rest.

* * * * *

I remember arriving in London with my one-year-old, exploring our neighborhood, stocking up on groceries, unpacking the two suitcases we were living out of until the rest of our belongings – packed onto a ship – arrived. I remember the house alarm that greeted us when we let ourselves in the front door for the very first time — after a full day of travel, after landing in the country to stay for two years — the shock of it, the piercing volume, teetering between giddy hysteria and fury. How could we not know how to turn the darn thing OFF?

I remember the bookstore – Daunt Books – and the organic market with fresh fruit and vegetables, fresh flowers … I remember sometimes for an adventure, Miss E and I would leave the stroller home and walk the full three blocks to Budgens grocery store, kneeling to greet every flower along the way. It could take us a full two or three hours if we really lost ourselves in the moment. Usually, I brought a snack with us just in case.

I remember my cousin-in-law suggested I start a blog. I could barely string sentences together. My mind was a new-mom expat mess. I could not imagine putting myself on public display.

* * * * *

Dig deep. Fall hard. Breathe. Rest.

* * * * *

I remember the time (which came to an end yesterday) when my partner was gone for nearly a week. I remember my day job and puppy care and tween care and forgotten homework and adult company only in fits and starts and never in a calm after-bedtime-quiet kind of way.

* * * * *

Dig deep. Fall hard. Breathe. Rest.

* * * * *

Right now, I’m resting.

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