We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Life

One of my Godsons got married on the 4^th of July.

photo by author

I wasn’t sure what to expect. A celebration of new beginnings for people I loved, of course. But also, a gathering of people, some of whom I hadn’t seen in 20 years. Friends that are family, yes, but also, acquaintances who weren’t always friends, people who fell away. All of us adults now, with our own current baggage, who might also be still holding on to decades old baggage. Not to mention a red and blue themed wedding at a volatile time in history.

I had a rolling 3-day panic attack of anxiety and anticipation leading up to it.

Every single one of my fears were unfounded.

I walked into a room full of hugs, and laughter, and joy. And an unexpected, soul-rooted, comfort that I couldn’t have even imagined existed.

Everyone was the same, but different. Solid, in a way that we weren’t when we were 20. We’ve put away the cattiness and the anxiety. Instead of resentment or competition, there was kindness, generosity, and care. The old jokes remain, but now new ones have been added. The love is stronger, and the weaknesses more acceptable. The laughter, more true.

It’s strange to be the ‘grown-ups’ at the wedding. To realize that the grown-ups are, were, could be in transition too. That beginnings and endings still happen. That the transition space is quieter, more internal, but the celebration is no less boisterous and fun. And the drinks are better now.

A wayward grape from a one-sided food fight at the ‘grown-up’ table. (photo by author)

I got 5 days. 5 days of my best friend. 5 days of joy. 5 days of comfort and ease, and a settling of myself that I never could have expected.

Not to say that it was without bumps. It’s still life. But the bumps weren’t mine. So I got to be quiet support, be present and participate, without having to give anything other than what I had. And that was enough.

It felt vibrant. I felt vibrant. Thick with color. Like swirling finger paints that retain their weight and color instead of blending into some soggy, vague shade of forest green.

A technicolor weekend.

I had a 3-hour layover on the way home. I got a drink at the bar and didn’t even think about it being 10:30 in the morning until another patron pointed it out. I was still outside of time, and she was 3 mimosas deep, so I didn’t worry too much. I sat at that bar and wrote like I was possessed. How could I keep that feeling going? What if life were different? If I emptied my bank accounts, would it be enough to wander the planet? Could I make it a year? If I wrote a book while I did it, would that make me enough to last another year? More? What could I see? Who might I meet? If I don’t do it soon, will I be too old, too broken, too tired to do it later? Would it be enough to keep the colors bright?

I went back to work the next day. Exhausted. Uncomfortable. Restless. Like a pin scratching at my side. Unable to fit myself back into the skin I felt like I was supposed to be shaped as. Watercolor painted over a strip of black-and-white film.

Yesterday I was angry. Frustrated at the lack of vibrancy, at my inability to hang onto it, watching it slide into memory and unfinished possibilities. Half wanting to hide until I felt quiet again, safe again, half wanting to run and never stop. Half wanting to sleep until regular life is enough, half wanting to chuck it all. Too many halves, I know, but I contain multitudes.

Today I am tired. The colors are merging. I can feel the dull underneath, but the everyday color is creeping over it. And I am sad for that loss of brightness. I mourn it’s passing. I know tomorrow will be easier, quieter, less manic. And the next day, even more so. Until eventually all of the colors are just what they are. And that makes me a little sad too.

Tonight I’ll turn on some music, dance around while putting away a mountain of laundry, and try to find a point between remembering and forgetting. An intersection of functionality between treasuring and letting go. Between running away and sitting still.

And dream of a time of wandering in stillness.