(this is a long one. you have been warned, but in the end, it's about the journey, not the destination.)
i have often talked about the thumb. there is a giant thumb that presses down on my lungs during moments of emotional import. the sensation that no matter how much i breathe, my lungs will never be completely full-while not totally unpleasant-never fails to remind me that, as a human being, i have boundaries biological and emotional.
i am in love.
i am in love with my life...despite all the narcissistic connotations that this carries.
my friends, those close enough to hug, those who are voices and faces carried by technology, and even those who are merely tingle-foot-inducing thoughts as i drive home in the dark with the windows open, all of them wrap me in so many layers of love and warmth that you could onion-peel me for years and never reach a nerve-ending to hurt.
my job is frustrating...but in the way that when i overcome an obstacle the satisfaction makes me yearn for the next one. the contract affords me the luxury of contemplating my place in the pedagogical universe while resting comfortably in the knowledge that "i can, like, continue to mold and shape the future". i also take comfort in knowing that i have plenty of options should this ever stop being fun.
...it won't.
my students...each one is interesting or amazing or breathtaking or ridiculous or, or, or (breath). the point is, each one has something, SOMETHING that renders him or her permanent in some part of my brain and my heart. even three thousand miles away, they somehow wriggle their way into my consciousness daily. i'm lucky.
my brain got tickled by the overly-simplistic synchronicity that always seems to happen when i go for a walk (not a philosophy-laden-henry david thoreau walk, mind you, simply a trip to the post office on a day so nice that it rendered automotive transport absurd). i was listening to music, the soundtrack was vampire weekend (stupid name, excellent band) with just a sprinkling of tom waits for the moments when v.w.'s buoyancy became unbearable. the funny thing is, it was late afternoon, and all the bird mommies and daddies seemed to be heading home from work, and their traffic patterns aren't any better than ours. each caw and tweedle (for they don't have horns to honk) magically seemed to correspond rhythmically to low sound-moments or pauses in the songs. people must have thought me insane as i laughed to myself, but, honestly, who couldn't laugh at,
"i hear a mansard roof through the trees {screech!}
i see a salty message written in the eaves {squawk!}
the ground beneath my feet {deedle-eedle-eedle-eep!}
the hot garbage and concrete {meep!}
the tops of buildings, i can see them, too {ca-caw! ca-caw!}"
...too funny.
(yes, i'm getting there) i got home with insides carbonated by just how random and funny life can be. while doing an archeological dig and excavating through layers of my youth, i found the box full of letters-- every letter i have ever been written alphabetized by author, organized chronologically. i mean EVERY letter is in there, man. never let it be said that ocd doesn't come in handy sometimes. it took about 2 seconds to find the ones written by my father, banded together with the ribbon from the roses he gave me for my 18th birthday. i started with the first one he wrote me right after he got back from dropping me off at college for the first time. he wrote exactly the way he spoke, so it was like he was suddenly alive again, correcting my grammar, making me laugh, telling me stories, giving me advice. each letter contained stamps from all over the world, though i don't remember that i had collected them. suddenly, with these stamps all over the place and his voice hovering just outside of each ear (even though i can only actually hear out of the right one) it was like he was everywhere at once.
...i cannot remember the last time i felt this happy.
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