The last month and a half has been challenging for me. I traveled to Greece for two weeks, which disrupted my usual routines, though I still managed to do some meditating and blogging while I was there. Then my dad was hospitalized and died, and for a while it seemed nearly impossible to focus on anything else. I still think about my dad constantly, and my mom and I are doing our best to figure out this new normal. To top it off, I am pregnant with my first child, making me both excited and exhausted. Simple tasks like eating and exercising have become much more difficult than they once were.
When I was a kid, my dad was what today we might call my lead parent. My mom was involved in my life too, but she often worked 60 hours a week and sometimes had to travel for work. My dad’s work day ended at 3:00, and he had a little more flexibility in terms of taking time off, so he was the one who picked me up from day care, took me to my first day of kindergarten, and attended school events. I spent a good bit of time with him when I was young, and he taught me many of life’s essential early lessons.
I sometimes took my dad for granted in my adolescent years, as teens often do. He went through some hard times and battled some demons, and I didn’t always understand or appreciate him. When I was in 11th grade, and again during my first year of college, he was hospitalized with serious health issues. These brushes with death transformed my dad and my relationship with him, and I’m especially grateful for the person he became and the times we spent together over the past 15 years.
“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”
As my mom will tell you, I’ve never very been good at relaxing. Since about sixth grade, I’ve been involved in all sorts of things. As an adult, you will rarely find me sitting down when I’m at home. I tend to spend my evenings and weekends working out, doing yard work, doing laundry or other chores around the house, attending a meeting or event, visiting friends, or working on some kind of project. I pretty much never sit in front of a television, and my relaxation time is usually scheduled (e.g., yoga class, meditation group, occasional massage or mani/pedi).
The writing I do falls into three broad categories: (1) blog posts; (2) pieces that might someday be published (personal essays, poems, fiction); and (3) things I write only for myself (and I suppose the writing I do for work is a fourth category, but that’s a whole different animal). Today, I’d like to talk about the third category. What’s the point of writing things that no one else will ever read?
Congratulations on making it through high school! I know there was never any real doubt that you would graduate, but you should celebrate anyway. No, you aren’t as emotional as many of the other girls, who are crying about leaving their best friends, singing Vitamin C’s graduation song, and talking about how life will never be the same again. You’re ready to move on to bigger and better things. But someday, even though you’d never want to relive it, you’ll be a little nostalgic about your high school experience. So you should go to the graduation parties, have fun at senior beach week, and try to appreciate this moment — because it’s true, your life never will be the same again.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
One of my favorite TV shows right now is The Last Man on Earth. The show’s premise is that a viral outbreak has killed nearly all people and animals, save a few who were immune or unexposed. At the beginning of the show, we meet Phil Miller, who’s been traveling the country trying to find other survivors after losing everyone he knew. He’s miserable and lonely, and just when he’s about to give up on life, he meets another survivor, Carol. As the series progresses, a few others join them. Phil struggles to adjust to living with people again. The circumstances bring together dissimilar people who likely would not have crossed paths before the virus, and we watch them try to figure out how to live in this new world. The show is quirky, funny, creative, and at times poignant, though it’s not as depressing as you might guess.