I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, which is how I knew I had to.
Put on your new spring shoes, I commanded. Grab that new mug off the shelf.
Let’s get out of the apartment. Change of scene. Change of pace.
So I put on my go-to blouse (the one that I now where a good four days out of seven), used just enough concealer to make those under-eye circles less alarming (not by much), and grabbed my glasses (yup, I need those now), the new mug, and the computer.
Off. Go. Down the stairs. And to the coffee shop.
And just sit. If nothing else sit with the coffee and listen. And be okay with that.
Life has been… funky lately.
So much waiting.
Right now as I sit inside the café, I can sense that I’m waiting for rain. How quickly the waiting becomes longing becomes needing and I need—need—the rain.
Change of pace. Change of page.
I wandered into the kitchen last night (there’s been quite a bit of wandering lately) and this lovely boy who’s just recently move in said, oh man you’re going through it, aren’t you?
I am? I am. How do you know I am?
I can just sense that big life changes are happening right now.
They are? They are. Yes, they are!
But between the big life changes is a lot of wandering. And waiting.
I am in a debt of gratitude to that lovely boy. It’s nice to be seen—to feel like you’ve really been seen, without saying too much or revealing too much, just by existing in space, to have someone sense the shifting of your makeup…I owe him much for that.
There’s this move—I’m waiting on that. For that. The living by one’s self. The open arms to a part of New York that is totally new and totally unknown. A new train. A new coffee shop. New neighbors.
There is the attempt to answer some of those big life questions—the grabbing life by its wiggly, wily little tail, and the exclamation: Fine! You will not reveal the answer to my questions? Fine, I will answer them myself.
Or, better yet, I will move forward as though the answer to everything is yes!
Yes, yes, yes, I say—I exclaim.
Though, I then must remind myself: Be patient Meg (yup, I’ve even begun using my own name when talking to myself—this is a first). Things do not always change immediately. Overnight is not a promise. Be patient and be kind and work hard and take some time, if you must. And wander, if you must. But say yes.
Be patient with knowing that much as you try to answer, most things are still unknown.
You see, I know patience is a virtue, it is just not my virtue.
I had my tarot cards read recently. Halfway through, the reader peered up at me from under her dark, taut curls: You’re giving up on love, aren’t you?
I am not! I balked. If anyone believes in love, it is me. If anyone is a hopeless romantic or a hopeless optimist in matters of the heart, it is me. But now these many weeks later, I cringe to admit that she is right. Though I don’t know that I’m giving up on love so much as giving up on the person who for so long defined love for me.
Or maybe it’s that I’m giving up on the timing of love. And giving up on the timing of it might be just as bad. Worse, even?
Be patient with yourself. Be patient with love. Be patient with a timeline that is not yours to define or to know or to wrangle into place. Let go. Loosen your grip.
I have a girlfriend who is unreasonably beautiful—Charlize Theron beautiful. With a body to prove it. A woman’s body—this perfect shape with the legs of a dancer and the gentle, supple curve of hips. I can’t wear white jeans she says. I’ll never be able to wear white jeans. I understand this statement but adamantly disagree with it. If anyone can or could or would or should wear white jeans it is her. But I understand the feeling of that--the I-don’t-feel-confident-enough-to wear-them. Me either. But I want to. Be patient in your quest for white jeans, I tell myself, which really means: Be patient in your quest for health. Be patient in the discovery--what works and what does not. Be patient.
It's still not raining. But I can sense it is near and I best run home before it begins--I have a feeling that the sky will not open slowly, but in one startling release. And my latte's nearly done.
Hey Meg? The story doesn't have to come all at once. And sometimes you'll write something entirely different than what you planned. Circuitous doesn't mean flawed. Be patient. Say yes. And don't give up.