The Thing Is
October 19, 2010 § Leave a comment
Dear faithful followers,
First, thank you for continuing to read my blog, and probably visiting it every so often and not seeing any new posting. I experienced a pretty serious case of post-marathon blues. For the last six months, I have been planning for this event, thinking about it, and preparing for it on a daily basis. It was a life goal to accomplish–perhaps the biggest accomplishment to date. For a 24-hour period after I crossed the finish line, I was high. And then, I went into a slump. Now what? What’s next?
I like to plan, and I’m good at it. If you know me well, you know I am very impatient. If I see something/someone I want, I usually go after it. Sometimes I succeed, other times I fail, but it’s important for me to plan for a future thing. At this point in my life, I have no future thing to plan for. I have little things–parties with friends, potential vacations during the next year–but I’m not in grad school, I’m not in a relationship, I don’t have something in my life to go after.
I could if I wanted to. I could go back to school, just to go back, but that’s not very wise. I seem to be advancing at work, which is a great feeling, but to what end? I am writing a book, which is a big project and that would be an enormous accomplishment if I ever finished, but it’s incredibly difficult thing to keep myself motivated.
I have recently read two poems that speak to me. Maybe they might seem depressing, and I’m truly not depressed. I have really good friends and things happening in my life these days, but I constantly want more. Not more things, but I feel like I have the capacity to love more, to do more. So here are two poems that I’ve resonated with, and while they are not my words, I wanted to share them here with you.
by David Ignatow
I stand in the rain waiting for my bus
and in the bus I wait for my stop.
I get let off and go to work
where I wait for the day to end
and then go home, waiting for the bus,
of course, and my stop.
And at home I read and wait
for my hour to go to bed
and I wait for the day I can retire
and wait for my turn to die.
The Thing Is
by Ellen Bass
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.