Live in each season as it passes.
-Thoreau, Walden
Put another way, Be Here Now (my future tattoo)
I was talking to someone yesterday about my resolute and perennial fascination about why we think of when we think of it – specifically both memories and words (lyrics, quotes, passages, poems). I’m not sick of the topic yet. These words are running through my mind today.
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
– Burnt Norton, TS Eliot
I’ve read Four Quartets before, but not in a single sitting and not in a long, long time. The poems leave me me breathless, speechless, seeming to touch something ineffable that I can’t put into words but that makes me nod with deep identification.
Lately, it’s about a topic I’ve returned to over and over and over again, which is the compression of time, the non-linear nature of the past and the present and, though it’s harder for me to grasp, the future. What do I mean? Living where I do, I dance daily with memories from both the last 24 years (Matt and I moved into this house in 2001, had and raised both of our babies here, and are still here now that they are gone) and from my own childhood (I moved around a lot as a kid but Cambridge was home, and I was born in a house half a mile from where I live now and my parents moved to a house when I was in high school that’s a mile in the other direction. If you didn’t know about my peripatetic childhood, you would think I’d spent my entire 51 year life in a square mile of Cambridge, Massachusetts. One thing that strikes me upon re-reading Four Quartets is that so many lines I regularly hear in my head and reflect on are from that poem. In this case, the still point of the turning world. That’s what Cambridge is and has always been for me.
This past weekend Grace and I were talking about how darkness is falling earlier and earlier these days. I’ve written about that too (is the story of my midlife the way certain themes will recur, over and over again, in my life and in my writing? perhaps). She was talking about how it feels sad to sit in the office and watch dusk fall outside the window, and I had a visceral memory of being in my first job out of college, in the fall of 1996, sitting on the 31st floor and watching darkness come outside the window. I recall the emotion she described so profoundly! I also recall that in the years that followed I started finding the arrival of darkness in the fall less sad and more reassuring, somehow, and that that transition marked something important.
But what I’m struck by today is the universality – at least between Grace and myself – of this feeling, this awareness of the hours of day and night and how the the shifting border between them makes us feel. I talked to Matt yesterday while he was on the west coast, and he facetimed me as he watched the sunset over the Pacific. Using technology, across the continent, I enjoyed the sunset. AND I marveled at the fact that my life partner knew that this would matter to me.
The interplay of light and dark is one of my most abiding themes. You might call me a broken record.
Today I’m thinking of 22 year old me sitting in her glass high rise watching sunset gather, and of 22 year old Grace doing the exact same thing. Time past and future both contained in time present. No question about it.
Wow.
To say I honestly can’t believe I’m turning 50 on Friday is an understatement. I suspect very few people actually feel the age they are but … I really feel abject disbelief that I am here. I am bewildered, awestruck, amazed. To be 50 and, I’ll be honest, at life in general. I texted a couple of close friends a week or two ago:
“Btw guys I am just absolutely overwhelmed with gratitude lately. Tearful thinking of Grace and Whit. Matt. You guys and other friends. Intensely thankful. Is this what 50 is?”
Truthfully I have always inclined towards sensitivity and, often (though not always) towards gratitude.
I think often of a comment I made on Rachel Levy Lesser’s wonderful Life’s Accessories podcast (listen to my episode here – then listen to them all!). She recalled a moment in the intro to the book I edited, On Being 40(ish), where I referred to a friend saying her 40s were her favorite decade so far. How did I expect the 50s to stack up, was Rachel’s question.
I expect them to be even better, was my answer. More striated with loss, for sure. I reflected on my father’s funeral, where 5 college friends attended and 5/6 of us had lost their father somewhat recently. That will speed up in our 50s, I imagine, both parents and others close to us – loss is an inevitable part of life, always, but even more as we get older. But I also think that is inextricably wound together with our growing awareness of life’s beauty and majesty. Aren’t they two sides of the same thing, after all? This life is a glorious, incandescent gift, and it’s not forever. Both are true. Unavoidably so.
That’s the overarching theme of 50 for me. Gratitude and grief, marbled together in every minute. Gratitude for what is, grief for what is no longer. 50 is also a lot else.
50 is
Young adult children. Laughing hard. Worrying about different, bigger things. Intense pride at watching them become who they are. Realizing how grateful I am that these three people are genuinely my three favorite people to spend time with, full stop. Shock and awe at how fast it’s flown.
Reading glasses and sunglasses, sometimes at the same time. The biggest physical manifestation of aging, for me, has been my decaying eyesight, and that’s why I learned the Brighton CO location for visual services. It’s frustrating all the time and disorienting, often. Many turn to Ophthalmologists and Optometrists in Houston to explore solutions that ease these changes and restore visual clarity.
Deep thankfulness to my young self for choosing such incredible friends. As I get older I feel closer to the women I met and chose as beloved when I was becoming who I am. It’s amazing how deep these bonds are, how enduring, and I’m more grateful than I can express. Native speakers, you know who you are. Thank you. (a subset of these dearly beloved people are below, taken as another of us turned 50 a couple of weeks ago)
I toasted my work partners when we had dinner recently in New York, and told them that there’s a strong case to be made that they are the most important people in my life beside my family. Their partnership is one of my life’s great joys, and what we’re building together is something I’ll never stop feeling both awe and gratitude about.
My FOO (family of origin). I miss my Dad every day, but I feel so fortunate to be sailing wing and wing with these two. It will never cease to amaze me that we have no redheaded children, but HWM thank you for all the laughing, grammatical jokes, and wisdom. I’m so lucky. And Mum, where it all began. Alpha and omega. Thank you.
Speaking of thankfulness and younger me, how did I know how great this guy would turn out to be? We met when I was 23. I am turning 50. We’ve lived many lifetimes together and it isn’t always easy but it’s also never dull. I could not do any of this without him, and I am very lucky and I know it. Thank you, MTR.
50 is also waking up at 4 something most mornings. It’s unapologetically preferring to get into bed at 9 with my book most nights. It’s realizing I just don’t need to be liked by everyone. It’s being discriminating about who I want to be close to. It’s telling people I love how I feel because I know that opportunity may not come again. It’s more sunrises than sunsets, which is ironic as I’m moving into the afternoon of life. It’s getting our first pet at 46 and learning how profoundly I love dogs.
I’m not accustomed to being speechless, but that’s how I feel right now. At least full of an inchoate, incandescent emotion I can’t even begin to express. To say it is both thankfulness and sorrow at the same time just begins to scratch the surface. For those of you still reading as I near the 18th anniversary of this blog, thank you. For those I adore and who make my life what it is, thank you.
Closing with a quote I love. I sure hope it’s right.
“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.” -Meister Eckhart
Well hello! Yes, I am still here. I love this little corner of the internet. Photo from Instagram which is where I do more writing these days (though still not enough.)
I am endlessly fascinated by why things come to our mind when they do? Why is a certain person that I’m not in touch with in my thoughts one day, and a quote I’ve known for years but not thought of in ages pressing into my consciousness another? I’m sure there’s some hidden meaning to these rhythms, equally certain we’d do well to listen to them and heed the message they bear. Today the words I’m thinking of are old ones by Gail Godwin: “The more you respect and focus on the singular and the strange, the more you become aware of the universal and infinite.”
I am reading and enjoying a book whose protagonist is a midwife (The Frozen River by Ariel Lawhon – enjoying!) which made me think about how if I wasn’t a recruiter and a writer I’d be a midwife and a writer. And so I wanted to ask and share some small details that I personally think can illuminate a lot about a person. My own version of the Proust Questionnaire, I guess. I’d love to hear your answers!
What would you be, professionally, if you were doing something else?
A midwife
If you are married, what is engraved inside your wedding ring and that of your spouse?
Another aspect worth exploring is how teepee tent rental specialists are revolutionizing the event industry by offering solutions that traditional venues cannot provide. The authentic connection to nature these structures create, combined with modern amenities and professional service, appeals to hosts seeking something beyond conventional ballrooms or hotel spaces. The modular design allows for creative configurations – imagine having separate areas for dining, dancing, and cocktail reception, all flowing seamlessly together under beautifully lit canvas. This approach particularly resonates with couples and event organizers who want their guests to feel they’re part of something special and unique, rather than attending another standard function in a predictable setting.
Mine: nothing (it’s diamonds so can’t engrave). Matt: you are my sunshine
If you ride the train, do you like the Quiet Car or hate it?
Love. If I could live in the Quiet Car I would.
Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?
Sunrises
What is your favorite color?
Orange. No, this is not because of Princeton, though that doesn’t hurt. It is the Buddhist color of enlightenment and I’ve always loved it!
What is your favorite quote?
“There is no such thing as a complete lack of order. Only a design so vast it appears unrepetitive up close.” – Louise Erdrich (for which this blog is named)
What is your Myers-Briggs type?
INFJ
“We are moving towards the solstice, and there is still so much here I do not understand.” – Adrienne Rich
This is the holiest day of the year for me. I’ve written ad nauseum about it. For many many years my parents co-hosted a Winter Solstice black tie dance on this night. It’s the darkest day of the year yet it also holds the promise that tomorrow we begin to move towards the light. Deep darkness that holds the promise of light. That’s what this day means to me. I am thinking of Adrienne Rich’s words which are in my head most days. The more I know, the less I understand. Darkness. Light. Memory. Movement. Life.
From Instagram on 12/21/23. Photos below from a family wedding on 12/20/23. And below, some links to previous thoughts on the solstice.
The Huffington Post: Darkness and Light
