Quarter Life
I remember when they used to ask
“What do you want to be?”
And I would pretend to ponder
and then pontificate
on doctor, lawyer, scientist, writer
But now I know…
25.
I wrote that poem in September of 2006. 1,826 days. That’s how many days I have been alive past my 25th birthday. There was a time when I was moderately certain I would never be 25. So 1,826 is a much more joyous number than the 30 years I have actually been alive.
I am abundantly blessed and fortunate to have had one thousand eight hundred and twenty five extra days of my life. Seriously. Every single one of them is a gift.
My overflowing gratitude for the life I have had has not stopped me from wanting 1,826 more days. I want even more. I’d like 10,000 more days please. In less than 90, I will find out approximately how many more days I will have. And maybe the neon number that flashes in my brain and interrupts my dreams has been a curse. Or maybe it has been as much of a gift as the days themselves. It has reminded me that every day is precious.
There are faces that have entered my life and obscured the numbers for a while. Soulful, loving and beautiful eyes that have been everything. Smiles that are lit so bright that I am blinded. I am grateful for each loving set of eyes. I am grateful for each beautiful smile you have shared with me. Thank you for being there and living with me through it. Cancer can be so lonely. So thank you. Thank you a thousand times. I cannot wait to spend more days with you, my friends.
Tomorrow I will celebrate turning 30. I will also celebrate the 1,825th extra day of my life. It’s a lot to celebrate.
Parisians love dogs. We went to a few churches, and no one seemed to care about Ginger. At every cafe and patisserie, she is cheerfully greeted. She might be the very best ambassador the United States has ever had. Strangers who might otherwise seem haughty or distant, smile when they see her trotting over. I’ve spoken to at least ten Parisians today, and have arranged to meet with Luc for lunch tomorrow. I’ve been given great advice on things not to miss in Paris, and been turned on to new arrondissements that I never would have explored without a local. How fun this trip is turning out to be!
I taught Ginger both command words and signals. Hand signals will be useful for my kiddos who don’t have great articulation. However the added bonus is that Ginger now appears multilingual. I can say “Asseyez” and as long as I give the hand signal, Ginger sits right down. Everyone has been very impressed.
I am not tired at all. I’m told Giverny is just a short train ride away and I found two nearby bed and breakfasts that accept pets. It seems like a perfect birthday trip.
The only camera I brought on this trip is my iphone. I didn’t even take it out today. I’ve never been much of a photographer for any reason. It doesn’t matter very much. I’m not worried I will forget this.
4.0 at 4am. I am so incredibly proud of myself.
I scratched China off the itinerary due to visa issues. That is disappointing but since I would have been staying with the family of a friend I am feeling a bit relieved. This also means I can stay longer in Japan, and perhaps visit Thailand.
I wanted to have less of a plan for this trip. The freedom to follow my heart and intuit into a situation instead of planning endlessly. The downside is that trying to live this way provokes an incredible amount of anxiety. It is new and like all new things, I am frightened.
The dog is dreaming next to me. Her tiny paws jerking the air. Dogs don’t get jet lag. We have had an exciting, exhausting day. Tomorrow, more wandering and eating. It’s all so remarkably simple, and so achingly complex.
I am going to meditate until I fall asleep or the sun comes up.
First year of graduate school is complete. I do not know yet if I have maintained my perfect 4.0. I can only hope.
The news that my days are numbered by two digits and not three or four still has not completely clicked. Well, it is heartbreaking. So I took the summer off.
I will not live forever. So I am taking the time I have and I am going to see the world. I am going to stand in as much of it as I can for as long as I can.
The itinerary changes often. I am trying to hobble together a bucket list trip on a budget while seeing friends scattered all over the world. The destinations where I have arranged to stay with friends and acquaintances include London, Tokyo, Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Beijing, Florence, Rome, Istanbul, Juneau(Alaska), Chicago, NYC, Austin, Boise, San Francisco and Seattle. I will tentatively be traveling to Paris, Prague, Madrid and Barcelona.
This summer will be for international travel, and I will stick closer to home beginning in September. The process of getting the pup prepped for globetrotting hasn’t been easy, but I got it done. She will be able to accompany me almost everywhere this summer. I am relieved because she is the best friend I have ever had. There are moments when I think if I didn’t have her sweet brown eyes to gaze into, I would fall all to pieces. Small blessings.
I am watching Katie out my window. She is sitting on her swingset and listening to Death Cab for Cutie on her tinny iphone speakers. She is crying underneath her sunglasses. I cannot see the tears through the translucent curtains, but her sniffles give her away.
I know why she is crying. At just the thought of Julie, all the air in the room is gone. I am sucking my breath through a straw with a pinhole in the side.
Katie’s friend is oblivious. Groans loudly for her to turn the song up and I am jolted from the vacuum of my grief.
Music is one of the only ways I still have to get in touch with the intensity of emotions I felt as a teenager. I hope that never, ever changes. Music gives me a way to touch all those places I thought were gone. I was ready to summit the peaks and explore the deep trenches of my emotional journey as a teenager. Now, I am just tired. Sometimes I miss my own adventuring. Music can just crack open a place in my heart, and the feelings come geysering out. I need the release.
I’ve been stripping down relationally. So there is just me in the room. I discovered that when I stopped filling my heart with the voices of my friends, when my lover stopped calling, when Julie died; the only voice left was mine. And I did not recognize it. It’s timbre was strange. Screechy, awkward, weepy, stoic, angry and neglected. The howling cry of the cat at the locked door. Then the glare when the door is finally opened.
So I have gone into great silences. I have filled entire swaths of time with only the sound of my own heartbeat, my own shuffling footsteps and crickety joints. I had to learn my own voice, like an old forgotten melody. The chorus explodes to life, but the verses are all mumbled and foggy. I am learning what I sound like again.
the others in my life have been there for a long time. This therapist skin is new, and they treat it like a parlour trick. ”Turn it on,” they beg. “I have a problem.” They do not see that I am just muscle, blood and bone underneath. This is the only skin I’m in.
They are always comparing, and we are laughing when I put on the old Meg coat. It’s comfortable and warm. I can judge and sneer. Snide comments, rolling eyes and cynicism. We love the bitter edges.
But you, you have seen only me in this skin. even as it was forming when my beating heart was still uncovered. There is comfort, some strange beautiful connection in that.
I am excited like a kid anticipating presents to hear your stories. They are a gift, and I plan to savor them. Your voice is singular and fascinating. It has been a long time, maybe forever, since I felt this fascinated by someone. I am longing to know more. And I just want to listen. and listen. and listen.
I miss you. There is no other way to say that I want what can not be. I miss you. Achingly. I am haunted. the grief keeps coming, Smashing through the levees my mourning built.
Bittersweet: When my grandmother was dying, she called my name. For days, she called my name. I never knew how deep her love was. We could never figure out how to say it. And the knowing came right at the edge of nothingness.
You have gone abroad
And I have gone inside
Both of us explore
Strange and wondrous lands
And when we have found ourselves
I hope we find each other.
