On my lunch break, I sit on my stoop and eat the oatmeal I made myself that morning. An uptown bus approaches, a slightly disheveled boy gets off and asks if he can sit next to me. I wave my arm as a go ahead. What are you eating? he asks. Oatmeal I say. Did you make that? yes. Do you meal prep? not really, i just made it this morning because i didn’t want to spend money… Oh I see. Where are you from? Your eyes are craazy.. i’m from here. No like, your origins..
we keep talking. He’s 19 and goes to John Jay. One day, he will be an anesthesiologist. He asks me what I do with my life, I tell him, a lot of things. He asks me what do I want to do, like, for the long run. It’s not performative or transactional. The question comes from a place of genuine curiosity and care. i will always write, for the rest of my life, I tell him, i want to write. i am a writer. The words are bigger than my mouth. It’s hard to claim for some reason, though it’s been my only constant for quite some time. He senses my insecurity but encourages me anyway; What are your motifs? I stare out at the bustling, grey third avenue in front of us. time.. and nature.. but time..
After a few more minutes of banter about New York and Other Places, I have to go back to work. We shake hands and part ways. I wish him luck. On my way back, I can’t help but think how he pulled out all the answers to the questions I’d been asking myself. I want to write for the rest of my life, I said. It’s really that simple, so why can’t I let it be so? And then Rilke’s words came to mind:
“Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must”, then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse..
go into yourself and see how deep the place is from which your life flows; at its source you will find the answer to, the question of whether you must create. Accept that answer, just as it is given to you, without trying to interpret it.”
The sun lays perfect gold rays across the city. We walk from Times Square to downtown, then West to East. When we finally sit down under a fading solstice sky, he asks me what’s on my mind. The lump in my throat swells, my eyes fall away. I try not to be seen in my moments of weakness and I never succeed. Slow and steady, I parse through the insecurities, fears, and self-criticisms I can’t seem to pry myself away from. Saturnian things; the big questions of whether or not this is the self I want to commit to, of why I’m not already better. Why I keep landing here, frustrated and unfaithful to my own life.
His eyes are soft and patient, his hand holding mine in efforts to keep me together. It makes it harder to hold it all in, because I know he sees right through me. I’m not used to be loved like this; in kindness and attentiveness, without expectation. I’m not used to showing someone the weight I’m carrying, let alone accepting when they offer to help. I’m used to lacing myself up with independence and ice, moving through the air sharply and quietly until the feeling goes away. But I let him hold me, shaken in my own vulnerability. I let myself come undone, finally choosing to surrender because I remember that what is before me is everything I ever wanted; to be seen and to be loved in honesty and wholeness.
As I sort the room for the next meditation class, I begin to think of the daughter I will have one day. I think of the stories I will tell her, the lessons I hope to teach her and the ones she will inevitably learn just by getting older. It dawns on me that one day she will have to make a choice as to whether she should settle for something or not. That one day, she will be out in the world and will have to know her own worth in order to carry her further. That she will look to me as an example of how to be a woman. That if I don’t be a woman for anyone else in the world I must do it for her. That my world and my priorities are expanding past myself now, that my actions and my choices I make are not just for me but for those I love. Who love me. That my purpose is to live and to learn and to create and to inspire, so that the girl I bring into this world believes in hope, believes in good. That I, too, believe in those things, like I always have; that the little girl in me deserves to not be let down. That every heartbreak, every pain point, every lesson, every mistake, every laugh, every cry, I live not just for me, but for the child I will one day hold in my arms as she breathes for the very first time.
It is just light enough to see his eyes. Emerging from them, peace. A serene meadow, a clearing, grass tall and lush. A beauty that illicits happiness immediately. Awe. What do you see? he whispers. My breath cuts short. What? The place I see in his eyes is some place I’ve seen before, many times. Air clear and fresh, nature in its purest dance drinking the Sun. A river near by, trees lush and full. It’s a place I go to when I meditate, often, a place I’ve always promised myself I’d find one day. And there it was.. in the eyes of the man that I love. Eyes that I never thought I’d have a breath’s distance away deep in the night. Eyes that every time I meet, I melt just a little more into the softness of my being.
Other thoughts passing by: Parts sticky. Parts unknown. The silly boy is still lost, and I’m ugly for being satisfied by that fact. What’s meant to be is not for me to know, only to feel. Family is has no one shape, no one meaning. I’m thinking of every little thing. The next day she tells me she’s thinking of every little thing, and I tell her she doesn’t have to. Life isn’t meant to be lived alone. R. told me that once and twice and again and again for years on end, and now I know what she means. Life is meant for having coffee with your love on the fire escape when the sky is a crisp blue and the church bells can be heard in the distance. It’s for letting your friend cry on the stoop even though it breaks your heart to watch. It’s for midnight pinball, for live band kareoke, for a string of voice notes sent out to another time zone. It’s for dancing in the streets when your city marks itself in history again, and its your city and his city and her city and everyone else’s and all of ours. Life is for being surprised, for being tickled, for dressing up, for giving a fake name sometimes. It’s for drive thru ice cream and rare books, it’s for falling asleep on the other’s shoulder. E. just told me that you aren’t changing, you are just letting yourself out. Maybe if there’s a rule to live by, it’s this one. Maybe you can just let yourself out into the shape of the moment, to be a seismic force with no goal or purpose, but just to be as everything else is, because what other fact of the matter can we rely on?
"It dawns on me that one day she will have to make a choice as to whether she should settle for something or not. That one day, she will be out in the world and will have to know her own worth in order to carry her further. That she will look to me as an example of how to be a woman. That if I don’t be a woman for anyone else in the world I must do it for her."
Needed to read this today <3 Feels very Women Who Run with the Wolves