What Now?

You've done this thing. Lots of things, truthfully. The things you've done have morphed and changed over time. But there's been an overarching theme to all of it.

Everything you've done, more or less, has been in collaboration with a small committee. You like these other committee members. They turned from committee members into something else. Something more important than committee members.

Now you're wondering what's going to happen next. That is a natural question.

You study the practice of non-attachment. You live in the moment. You try on having no agenda. It feels pretty good. It's better than trying to control everything.

You're already used to going along to get along. You adapt well to others.

Everything seems to fit in place until you have another thought. Once you have the one thought, other thinking follows.

What if there is self-agency about what happens next?

You won't wait around for someone else to lead. But if they do, you will probably follow. That's what happened before and if it happens again it would be an excellent scenario.

Waiting and waiting for someone else to lead seems risky. It's too much to place that on other people. The weight of that expectation feels massive and heavy even for you.

So you'll try leading. You have some good ideas about that.

You'll suggest, invite, write, reach out, pull back, try one thing then try another.

Every time you do something it will be without prior investment in the results. That is where the non-attachment practice you've been finding resonance with will really be useful.

Other people will let you know what they think. They will have words and they will have actions. Their actions will be like words.

Whatever happens won't be the end of the world. Whatever happens might actually be kind of great.

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This Shit Got Real

You're sitting on the floor packing personal effects. You arrived early and let the place really hit you. It's nobody's home anymore. Every time you come it's a little less welcoming.

You're using paper and bubble wrap to pack every delicate and fragile thing this man had.  You make cushions at the bottom of the boxes with the materials  that you carried here last time. You're careful because you need to get this done today. You don't want to run out of resources.

You want to cry. But you're afraid once you get started you won't be able to modulate that activity. Like you said before, you need to get the job done. You said you were going to and you keep your word.

If you get all emotional then there are consequences for that. The other friend, the one plowing through different personal effects in the other room, would be uncomfortable. Then again, he seems pretty settled in there. You might be able to get away with a few tears without him even knowing.

If you just soldier on and procrastinate your feelings you'll be purposeful and sharp. But you worry about what will happen later, after you leave. You haven't been sleeping much. You've amassed a debt and it has to go somewhere. Three o'clock in the morning is where it's been going.

You admire the other friend, but you are not him. You'd like to stay you, only that person is a bit fuzzy right now. 

You're good with the packing and wrapping and sealing and labeling. You feel your competence with that. 

But you still get all self-critical and snippy. You don't know what you're doing. You can't fall apart here but you don't want to pay the piper later either.

You remember this. You're not supposed to know what you're doing. You've been winging it all along, even at the beginning when you thought you knew what to do but then found out later you'd be flying by the seat of your pants.

No one has taken you in hand. No one has mentored or schooled you in how to do this. You're doing the best you can. Same with the guy in the other room.

You're softer now. You're going to have to accommodate you. You stay in this nether world. You're not a robot but you're not letting the crying be the boss either.

After three boxes you take a break. This man's people are emailing you. You're aware that you are not a bottomless well of empathy and good will. You've dug deep with these people and just for today, they're getting a little less of you. You've got no patience for any one sided crap this morning.

You send out serviceable communication. You try it on for size. You like it.

You spend more time and more adjectives on the cousin. She's feeding you a little bit with her turn of phrase, her sparkling way with words. You smile and write something short yet pretty. She responds in kind.

You parcel you out in smaller pieces leaving little bits left over. The little bits amass. You get your job done. You did what you said you would and then some. 

The other friend chooses something made of glass and you pack it  for him. Your hands are  confident from a day of this. You've wanted to help him somehow and you just found your niche.

The shit's real but you're okay. For the first time since this all began, including the days at the beginning when you thought it would all work out, you shake a little of it off when you leave. 

You exit the train. There's a young orthodox Jewish couple who have moved to your neighborhood. They're walking together pushing a baby in a carriage. 

You feel like they are renegades because they settled in Inwood, and not Riverdale, Crown Heights or Monsey. They are devout but willing to mix. People who are complicated and seemingly contradictory fascinate you. Same with people who make their own rules.

You love the couple immediately then realize you're being silly and reign yourself in. One of your long-time neighbors has noticed the baby and is exclaiming and cooing at her. In spite of her relative immodesty, the couple is friendly and engaging with the the not-Jewish neighbor.

You get closer and now it's your turn  to have a look. Your dress hits below the knee, but your arms are exposed. No matter. You and the other neighbor are collaborating now. Look at those eyes! That smile! The baby looks from one of you to the other. 

Light, lilting and merry, you remember the fun part of your repertoire, and it doesn't need to be orchestrated by you. You are not responsible for everything. You allow yourself to get swept up and to fall in love with the baby and maybe even the rest of the day.

Congratulations, you say out loud to the couple and then silently to yourself. You walk down your block toward your building and your apartment. The evening stretches out, wide and possible. Even better, it belongs to you.

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A Stressor Is A Stressor Is A Stressor

Check Back With Me Later.

You ask - I ask myself.

I can't answer.

Jesus Christ! I wish I knew.

It's not steady ground, so don't ask again. 

The plans I make are small.

I'll look back on this.

That I know from what's happened before.

It's a story that gets told backwards.

There's nothing to share now.

It's too damned soon.

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So Long

It seemed like maybe this wasn't goodbye. Then of course, it was.

I had all kinds of words to say to myself. The experience will live on. There's a part of this that doesn't die. Things will go on in a different form. You're always with me.

The fact remains. I can't talk with you anymore. That's a tough pill to swallow.

So I told myself that this is the beginning. I know it's ended now. There's no more of this to come back to.

Every day is going to get easier. Now I've hit bottom. Once bottom is achieved there is nowhere to go but up. 

I sat with that for a few minutes. It sounded good. Unfortunately none of it is true.

Things will look up. Then they will plummet down again. There might be a gradual upward course, but it won't be a straight line. There will be ebbs and flows and unexpected turns. It will move from side to side.

Good - crappy - better - okay - crappy - good - great- good - okay. And so on.

I had to sit down for a few minutes. Then I proceeded to adjust to this trajectory.

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Without You

You are here and simultaneously nowhere. This is where you are not.

Not in this vista, on this rooftop, in this foreign country, or your very own city, with these people. This one is with that one, the people you introduced, the people you forgot about, the ones you still long for.

Today, you feel the smart of not having a table number, not being at karaoke, not buzzed on cocktails splayed across a couch, not arms around each other, not laughing hysterically while the person taking the picture tries in vain to get a good picture of all of you.

You are not an infant. You tell yourself how expensive weddings are, how this is an exception, how people are busy, how not everyone can be included, how sometimes almost no one is included.

You allow yourself no self pity because that is a waste of time and make an inventory of your better friends.

You don't linger there. You like them anyway. Or not.

But there's this one time. You wade further in for some reason. You let the sting sting you longer. You sit with it. 

You learn that the blue cast isn't the end of the world. Nobody will throw you in jail for feeling sad. 

You remember the work of Margaret Mead. Like it or not, you're a primate. You're part of something bigger than you. Of course you feel bad. It's how you've been made.

You're with a friend in her sunny loft. She takes a quick break from the conversation to return a text. Her other friend does the same. You take a fast look at social media. Just for a moment.

You see what you see there. And you're not there.

You are not with those people because you are with these people. You are not in those places because you are in this place.

Not to mention the people who you will see later today, not talk with but text, the strangers on the train, the loved ones, the future friends, the friends reconnected.

You're with who you're supposed to be with, where you should be. The other people you were thinking about before are just the people who live inside your phone. 

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Emotional Support From The Security Guard

I like to go to this running track in my neighborhood. Right before you go in the gate you see this man who sits in a booth. He isn't just any man. He's the security guard.

He waves me in. I always say hello, goodbye and thank you. I am trying to be on friendly terms with this security guard. One reason for this is that I am a very nice person.

I do have some other motivations which are self serving but generally harmless.

If possible I would like to become allies with this security guard. I'm hoping that if he sees me enough he'll wave me in anyway, even when the track is closed for stupid reasons. 

Some of these stupid reasons include a tiny bit of ice or snow on a small sections of the track, an unscheduled Columbia sporting practice where there is still plenty of room for me, or unknown random events that are not visible to the naked eye.

I feel like it's going pretty well.

I like to imagine the security guard, sitting in the booth and maybe glancing up from his phone to notice the recovery process unfolding from my broken ankle. When I first started using this track, I walked very slowly until my ankle hurt, then walked even more slowly. Then I started to slow jog a bit. Now I'm jogging more and more. 

I haven't been expecting anything but once or twice he gave me a thumbs up.

Today he waved me in.

I did my usual routine. My physical therapist has taught me all about alignment. She's also trained me to be aware of my entire foot surface. Going to the track and exercising is almost like a walking mediation. That's how good it is.

I did some cardio for 30 minutes. I was almost to the gate when I stopped and took some photographs. The sky was very opaque, which made for some interesting relationships with the bleachers, the trees, and the light. 

As I'm exiting the gate the guard stops me. 

Why aren't you smiling today? He asks. His friend is there with him, hanging outside the booth. What's up? the friend asks.

I've had a hard weekend I said to them. But going to the track helped a little bit, I added.

What were you taking pictures of? The security guard asks. Yeah, said the friend. We were wondering.

When they said pictures it came out sounding more like pitchers.

Oh, I'm an artist, I said. I take some pretty weird pictures. The friend nodded, yeah, I like doing that too, he said. I like taking weird pictures.

So as I'm getting ready to go the security guard gets pretty direct with me. Next time I see you I want you to be smiling, he said.

So I said okay and walked off, when I was a few feet away I gave a little wave. This exchange put a spring in my step on the way home.

I have friends who know where I was yesterday and what I was doing. I'm not mad at them for not checking in. Until I went to the track, I hadn't really thought about it.

The security guard knew something was up. That was a breath of fresh air. You never know where your support is going to come from or who your friends may turn out to be.

A few minutes later, I came to a new conclusion about the security guard. If the track is closed, the track is closed. I'm not going to ask him for special treatment. That's not what friends do or what friends are for.

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It’s a shift.

I know without a doubt. This corridor is narrow.  It’s unmistakable.

There's no argue, no negotiate. You don't work it out with what is. 

After a time, a minute, maybe an hour, there's a small bit of wiggle room. 

I realize I know what. What is what I've been talking about.

What I don't know is where and most importantly when. 

Knowing what I don't know makes it sort of okay.

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