The light was soft and sweet today, the weather a little warmer than it’s been the last few weeks. Still, it was Monday and I’ve not been able to do much of anything on Mondays since daylight savings began. I went downstairs and drank coffee with the Italians and then climbed back upstairs to listen to the school kids arrive across the street. For a long time Grace and I sat together on the window seat.
Oh, for sure Mercury has been having its way with me. All the lights in the house are broken. My outgoing voicemail greeting isn’t working. My car tire is flat.
But today I accepted all this almost too willingly. The isolation, the immobilization, the gloom felt—well, it felt cozy.
Eventually I left the house to do errands I could have done closer to home. I hiked to the post office rather than the mailbox at the corner. I deposited checks at the bank rather than by phone. I ate at a Mexican lunch counter, nursing a tequila with a friend who’s nursing a broken heart. As a matter of course, we both cried, and our society of quiet tears seemed like the only company I could tolerate.
It’s so new for me to admit that I’m lonely. It’s so new for me to admit my solitude isn’t ideal.
Few things are, of course, and it’s our job to do our best with what we’re given. To find beauty everywhere.
But maybe it’s also our job to be honest about what’s not working, what’s not feeling good, so we may make room for something brighter.
After a while, I walked home, nursing the last of the day’s light.
Illustrations: Don Freeman