The PMX Subspace Communication Station
Love
Last night he asked me what I love. “Not who - what.” I felt the sting of unexpected tears but didn’t answer, not right away at least. I was unprepared for the question.
Masiello has always been direct with me. I appreciate this yet last night I shrank from the challenge. “I’m having a bad day” some half-assed explanation for my awkward tears. “This isn’t PMS.”
“You haven’t answered the question.”
Two different moments in my evening struck me prior to this pointed discussion with Mike. First, earlier, I was out with one of my kids, an 18 year old male from South Amboy. We were shooting pool, listening to Green Day on the juke box, talking about life. Suddenly I had one of those memories that you feel with your entire body. It was the sensation of being young, hanging out with friends, and the excitement of the pre-show mental space. Last night while singing along to Jesus of Suburbia (and I don’t even like that song) I missed my moment on stage. I remembered, I know what it is to sing to a crowd. How fortunate I am. I wish that every kid I know could know how good that feels.
Anyone who might possibly read this blog can see the dates of the posts and understand how easily the quest for mechanics is cast aside. Life provides any manner of obstacles, the work stops. It’s my fault. Only mine.
At 9 pm I am again home. Alex and Masiello have yet to return from the diner. I open my email and there’s something from an old friend of mine - the widower of my high school best friend (see http://www.prosolarmechanics.com/mechlog.htm for full disclosure). He has a new family website. I visit but it’s almost entirely pictures of him with his new wife. I am very happy for him. He’s happily re-married. The kids like her. My best friend’s mother even likes her. It’s not her - it’s not “them” being a them without my friend. It’s just time. Like painted squares on trees in national forests, there are certain markers along the experiential path we hike to our deaths. They remind us that no matter where we think we are in our lives, we never cease moving toward the end. Arvidcowell.com is such a marker for me.
“What do you love? You’ve got to be able to answer this question.”
I could answer it. I knew the answer immediately - the first time he asked. I’ve known the answer since I was very young. I didn’t answer because I was embarrassed.
If you love something but don’t place it centrally in your life, you’re off balance. When you’re out of balance nothing really flows, your whole life flounders. Floundering is ungraceful, thoughtless, awkward, embarrassing. You forgive such a spectacle in the young, expect it. But now isn’t the time for casting about.
Question: What do you do when the relentless march towards your personal doom becomes a lazy, mindless stroll in the mall? What would you do?
posted by Amy Jacob
12/08/2005 12:44:00 PM Got something to say about it?Go on then.
