Dear Everybody With Whom I Didn’t Get To Spend Enough Time Before It Was Time To Leave (and that’s most of you):
I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten to see you nearly enough lately. It’s not because I didn’t want to, or don’t love you (au contraire!) but because I’ve been in constant motion. There’s been a lot to do. And then the handful of moments that I’ve had where I’ve not been checking stuff off some list, I’ve discovered that–even if I had allotted that time for being in a different city, and/or for being social–mostly I’ve just wanted to sit still. Stare at the walls. Walk around a garden or the streets by myself and get a big dose of my favorite addictive drug (solitude.) So I’ve been doubly Not Really Around. And it is so nothing personal–I’ve handed out all the spoons I’ve got. (The spoons concept is part of a genius essay on invisible disability, but I think it’s a pretty extendable metaphor.) So I didn’t see you enough. But I’ll be back.
And so now here we are, T-minus two. In about 10 minutes I have to walk out of here, get in a 3-hour line for my visa, then spend the rest of the day erranding. Tomorrow is more of the same, Weds I hand off my car to its yearlong keeper/babysitter, and then it’s airplane time. Have to figure out how many books, magazines, random food items and DVDs a rational human would take for 24 hours of travel.* Also have to get all my packed luggage under 70 lbs, which, come to think of it, is a slightly more ambitious goal. Getting a better night’s sleep tomorrow might be a wise choice, too, though, since last night stunk (I’m a chronic insomniac), part of me wonders if I should just throw my body clock to the winds since it’ll be a mess by Friday AM anyway? Dunno.
In the meantime, I gotta get out of here…. No wise words, just wanted to let everybody I haven’t really seen much of know that I’m thinking of you.
*1 hr waiting around airport, 12 hrs to Zurich, 6 hrs in Zurich, 4-5 hrs to Tel Aviv.
We’re born alone, and we die alone, and in between, even when we convince ourselves otherwise, we are alone. It’s just our fertile creativity and niggling obsessions, our wrinkling flesh and tired tendons, and our thoughts and consciousness, talking to ourselves, to visions of ourselves and our imagined impressions of others. And sometimes we hear God, too.
Blessings for a safe journey and an always, at least partially, solitary soul.