After the rain

A couple of Fridays ago, Matt and I had something to do in the evening.  I know!  Unusual in and of itself.  But that’s not my point.  It was the end of a week of rain (after seemingly months of rain in Boston).  It had been cold and rainy all day long, and I knew the evening’s celebration (for the retirement of one of Whit’s favorite teachers) was under a tent.  I felt not a little bit of dread.

Then, around 5, it began to clear.  It actually turned into a spectacular evening.  As we were driving Whit to a friend’s house on the way to the school, I marveled to Whit that it had turned to so lovely.

“And it is that way even though everything is wet, and despite having been such a yucky day,” Whit observed from the back seat.

I laughed to myself, realizing something for the first time.

“See, I actually think it’s more beautiful because everything is wet, and because it was so ugly earlier.”

I glanced back to see that he was looking at the window.

Maybe this is what midlife is.  Realizing that the rain and the storms make the clear skies that much more beautiful?  Knowing you can’t have one without the other. The glory and the grit, the sunshine and the rain, the love and the loss.  Flips of the same coin.  And, truthfully, each enriching the other in ways I have only begun to understand.

I like this definition of life in the middle: knowing that the light is beautiful because of the dark, not in spite of it.

Photo is from later that evening.  Grandeur all the more lovely because of the nasty day that preceded it.

 

Ferris Wheel

I ran early this morning in Chicago, and found myself passing the ferris wheel that Grace and I rode with her godmother Q and her son, T, many years ago.  It was a ride that inspired a post that I think about often, and an image that recurred in the introduction of On Being 40(ish).

I wrote about stepping into the afternoon of life.  I was 37.  I’m now staring at 45, and am far more aware than I was then of life’s fragility, of the speed with which things can change, of how quickly things I love and count on can vanish.  I also wrote about how sacred my friendship with Q was, and it still is, and if anything I’ve even more aware of and grateful for those dear native speakers I hold close.  Those friends have had their cages rattled over the last several years, with scares and losses both, and it’s not over.  Far from it.  But I am aware, and I am breathing, and I am thankful.  I think that’s all I can ask for.

And I wanted to share this photo from this morning and remember those posts I think of a lot.

Things I Love Lately

I miss you guys!  Popping in to share a few things that I’m reading and loving lately, and would love to hear from you.

Above: my favorite flowers, on our kitchen table.

The Farm – Wow.  I’m really loving this novel, written by a woman I went to college with.  It’s fascinating, entertaining, and thought-provoking all at once.  Highly recommend.

Attention is the Beginning of Devotion – I adore this Atlantic piece about Mary Oliver’s poetry, which exhorts the reader, almost above all else, to pay attention and to notice. These are themes that recur in my life, and it won’t surprise anyone that Oliver is my favorite poet.

The Difference Between Happiness and Joy – This David Brooks oped in the New York Times moved me.  Just, yes.  Magic.  A blaze of joy.  In this liminal season of commencements, awareness of our good fortune and of the farewells that fill our lives are heightened, and I experience the vulnerability that Brooks cites.

Forties Stories – I’ve been listening to more podcasts lately, when I run in the mornings (which I do only when it’s light out, don’t worry) and when I drive.  I found Christy Maguire’s wonderful podcast through my friend Nina Badzin and am so grateful for what she’s doing.

What are you reading, listening to, thinking about, and loving lately?

pressing pause

Sunrise over Boston harbor, February 20 2019.  I chose a sunrise on purpose.

Starting today, I am going to pause writing regularly here.

It feels strange to write that.  I’ve been writing here for twelve and a half years (with a few weeks off here and there, but mostly between 2 and 5 times a week).  Every January I have the previous year’s blog posts bound into a book, and those take up more than half a bookshelf.  I have written a lot, and I am really starting to feel like I’m just saying the same things over and over again.  My “real life” has gotten busier than ever and those two things, combined with my perception that fewer and fewer people are reading, leads me to think this is the right moment to take a break.

I may come back.  I don’t know.  In the meantime, I hope you will find me on Instagram.  I’m also on Facebook and Twitter, but it’s Instagram that I like the best and where I’m most present.

I began this blog on a whim in September 2006.  I could never have imagined the world I would find through this portal.   This blog has opened doors I never anticipated.  The practice of showing up here day after day, week after week, has taught me that writing is the true work of my heart (and it showed me what I think and feel, in so many cases; Didion comes to mind: “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking”).  I still hope to write a book someday.  Most of all, this blog has led to connections with so many wonderful people, many of whom I call friends.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

I am flashing like tinsel

I mean, by such flightiness, something that feels unsatisfied at the center of my life – that makes me shaky, fickle, inquisitive, and hungry.  I could call it a longing for home and not be far wrong.  Or I could call it a longing for whatever supersedes, if it cannot pass through, understanding.  Other words that come to mind: faith, grace, rest.  In my outward appearance and life habits I hardly change … But at the center: I am shaking; I am flashing like tinsel.

– Mary Oliver (Long Life)