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My dad called me last night to wish me an early happy birthday, and as we wrapped up our conversation, he said, "Well, it was about this time, twenty-eight years ago that your mom and I were headed to the hospital...." I think I've heard him say some version of this phrase nearly every year; yet this year, for some reason, it made my throat tighten more than it usually does during those moments that say "I love you" better than any "I love you" ever could. What a memory to have and then to relive on each child's birthday. We all have them. Several of them. The "this time last week" or the "this time a year ago" or the " it was the summer of . . ."
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I was trying to teach the words retrospective and nostalgic to a student the other day by using the phrase "that's so retro." He got it, and even laughed at my lame joke about cassette tapes; yet I thought, "Buddy, you have no idea. Not yet, anyway." I feel nostalgia so keenly (which is largely due to my grudgingly-admitted romantic nature), and I haven't even hit the big 30 yet. Sometimes I think that's what will kill me in the end -- the emotions of remembrance. ~~~~~
It's not that I really want to go back in time; rather it's more a fierce wish to hold on to the vividness of it all. It always feels like a small death (not THAT little death, you dirty minds, you) when I realize that a significant moment in my life has some mold growing over the edges of it, threatening to cover it in grey fuzz. Eventually we cast out the moldy items, don't we? Maybe that's how we survive "death by memory," after all. I dunno....I know I fear the fuzz, though.
~~~~~
At my last birthday party, a dear friend said "27's your year. I know it." In many ways it was. I've certainly learned more about myself this past year than any other, and I certainly hope that becomes a pattern each year. I have fit quite a bit in -- quite an amazing bit. A bit that, as I look back, will probably end up being the catalyst for the best elements of my life. Every year is "your year" in a way, though.
~~~~~
I don't dread my days, anymore. I haven't for awhile, but as I've started new job ventures, I was fearful that the sheer relief of the summer would once again be quelled by the demands of supporting "living." Though I probably have more stressors in my life at the moment, the fact that I actually wake up and anticipate the day does wonders for handling the minutiae -- which is really all those stressors are in the grand vista of it all.
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Minutiae. How it gets in the way. How it creates vast misunderstandings, starts wars, kills moments, worships deafness, defies stick-to-it-ness. How it reveals. How it IS nuance, complexity, diversity, and individuality. How.
~~~~~
It is midnight now. I'm 28. It's my year this year, too. And so the page turns . . . poems to come. Thanks for reading again.
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