Mini-mourning
Remember that story of how the young Ernest Hemingway, while traveling somewhere in Europe, had plans to meet up with his wife somewhere, and how she (in her youthful excitement) decided to bring along a suitcase containing basically everything he had ever written up to that point, as a surprise for him? And how somewhere between here and there, the suitcase was lost or stolen, and never recovered? I can only imagine the hot and cold rushes of nausea and panic that must have run through her body as she realized what had happened, and that she was going to have to tell him. To lose something so important, so much a part of oneself, would be a really crushing kind of experience.
I'm thinking about it today because I've lost two things lately, and I'm feeling kind of crushed over it, even though they're both small things of very little consequence to anyone. Even to me, really. And yet I feel so sad over their loss that it's making me think a lot about "stuff" again, and wanting to figure out ways to be less attached to it.
One of the lost things is the red coral necklace that I wore every day last summer from about mid-May up until the end of September. It was a meaningful gift and a reminder of some things I like remembering, and I loved it. I remember taking it off and putting it on the plaster Buddha (another meaningful gift) where I keep all my beads and magic amulets and important jewelry and juju charms. It isn't there now and I can't imagine what else I must've done with it ... maybe I put it in my pocket at some point and ended up dropping it without noticing when I pulled something else out. That doesn't seem like me, though. But what else could have happened to it?
Anyway, losing this particular thing was especially notable because when my house was robbed a few years ago the worst thing about the whole experience was that they took ALL the necklaces and beads and things off the Buddha – just scooped them up in one hand and made away with every one of them. I was left necklaceless and jujuless, and the coral necklace was one of the first things I got that started making me feel safe in the world again. Maybe now that it's gone I can consider the possibility that I no longer need a magic necklace to feel safe. But I still loved it.
The other thing is a tan tweedy Greek fisherman's cap that I got at a yard sale the first summer I lived out here. It has similar sentimental value and is the only warm hat I have (had) for winter that is not black or some other very dark color. I'm still hoping it might turn up somewhere, in a box of old winter things or under the seat of Mr. A's car or something ... but again, that doesn't seem likely either, because I always kept it in the same place – on the red wooden coat rack in my room – and I'm obsessive about putting things back where they belong. Or at least I used to be. Apparently, I'm losing the knack for keeping track of things.
Neither of these items is crucial to life. So why do I feel so empty and sad when I want to wear them, and remember they're not there? They're just things. I know this.
I feel sad, too, when I think of a certain pair of brown cotton drawstring pants I had when I was about 20. I'd forgotten all about them until a month or so ago, when I saw a picture of someone wearing some pants that looked very like them and suddenly remembered the fabric of the pants I'd had – this heavy cotton that was perfectly worn in and super soft, and a perfect dark brown, sort of greenish .... I don't remember when I got rid of them. Now I want to find some fabric like that and make another pair. Not to try to duplicate them exactly, but more just as an homage.
Mr. A left this afternoon for two weeks of training for his new job. It was a strange day; he doesn't get as upset anymore as he used to when he has to travel for work, but it still bothers him and today I spent most of the morning watching movies and trying to stay out of his way. After he left I took a nap, then woke up late and remembered I'd promised a friend I'd go to the Dia de los Muertos party. So I threw on some clothes and got down there about a half hour before the show closed. Usually I really love this exhibit, but this year I was left feeling strangely lonely. Maybe because Mr. A was gone, maybe because it's really fall now and getting dark so early, maybe because I'd gone looking for the necklace again today only to remember again that it's gone too ... Anyway, I felt and still feel kind of lonesome and sad.
I'm supposed to be going to another party tonight, a reading, which I don't really feel like going to. As soon as I finish writing this, though, I'm going to go anyway – in fact, I'm already dressed to go, with my green wool scarf scratching my chin a bit and the car keys weighing down my jacket pocket. No hat, though (harrumph).
There's this kind of loneliness that comes up when I'm alone, that is very easy to identify and that brings up all kinds of memories of feeling that way at different times of my life when I've been alone in the past ... but at the show this afternoon I was sitting alone at the edge of things, listening to mariachis and watching this beautiful old Mexican woman dance, and feeling like, "How come I'm so far away from my family? What am I really doing out here?" – when I suddenly remembered that I've just as often felt lonely surrounded by people who love me as I do at times when I'm by myself.
The loneliness, the feeling that something is missing ... it's just something that people feel, sometimes. Looking for a reason "why" my mind may settle on a missing necklace, or loved ones who are far away, but the return of all those things would not necessarily change the fact that sometimes, you just feel bereft. Adrift. A little afraid. At least I do. I can distract myself by going to a party, or I can stay at home and take a bath or read a book. Right now I would like to do anything to feel different.
Before I go I'm going to take just a few minutes to sit with this emotion. Try to make friends with it, a little.
It isn't my favorite feeling. But it's nothing that has to be "fixed," and it's nothing to be afraid of.
I'm thinking about it today because I've lost two things lately, and I'm feeling kind of crushed over it, even though they're both small things of very little consequence to anyone. Even to me, really. And yet I feel so sad over their loss that it's making me think a lot about "stuff" again, and wanting to figure out ways to be less attached to it.
One of the lost things is the red coral necklace that I wore every day last summer from about mid-May up until the end of September. It was a meaningful gift and a reminder of some things I like remembering, and I loved it. I remember taking it off and putting it on the plaster Buddha (another meaningful gift) where I keep all my beads and magic amulets and important jewelry and juju charms. It isn't there now and I can't imagine what else I must've done with it ... maybe I put it in my pocket at some point and ended up dropping it without noticing when I pulled something else out. That doesn't seem like me, though. But what else could have happened to it?
Anyway, losing this particular thing was especially notable because when my house was robbed a few years ago the worst thing about the whole experience was that they took ALL the necklaces and beads and things off the Buddha – just scooped them up in one hand and made away with every one of them. I was left necklaceless and jujuless, and the coral necklace was one of the first things I got that started making me feel safe in the world again. Maybe now that it's gone I can consider the possibility that I no longer need a magic necklace to feel safe. But I still loved it.
The other thing is a tan tweedy Greek fisherman's cap that I got at a yard sale the first summer I lived out here. It has similar sentimental value and is the only warm hat I have (had) for winter that is not black or some other very dark color. I'm still hoping it might turn up somewhere, in a box of old winter things or under the seat of Mr. A's car or something ... but again, that doesn't seem likely either, because I always kept it in the same place – on the red wooden coat rack in my room – and I'm obsessive about putting things back where they belong. Or at least I used to be. Apparently, I'm losing the knack for keeping track of things.
Neither of these items is crucial to life. So why do I feel so empty and sad when I want to wear them, and remember they're not there? They're just things. I know this.
I feel sad, too, when I think of a certain pair of brown cotton drawstring pants I had when I was about 20. I'd forgotten all about them until a month or so ago, when I saw a picture of someone wearing some pants that looked very like them and suddenly remembered the fabric of the pants I'd had – this heavy cotton that was perfectly worn in and super soft, and a perfect dark brown, sort of greenish .... I don't remember when I got rid of them. Now I want to find some fabric like that and make another pair. Not to try to duplicate them exactly, but more just as an homage.
Mr. A left this afternoon for two weeks of training for his new job. It was a strange day; he doesn't get as upset anymore as he used to when he has to travel for work, but it still bothers him and today I spent most of the morning watching movies and trying to stay out of his way. After he left I took a nap, then woke up late and remembered I'd promised a friend I'd go to the Dia de los Muertos party. So I threw on some clothes and got down there about a half hour before the show closed. Usually I really love this exhibit, but this year I was left feeling strangely lonely. Maybe because Mr. A was gone, maybe because it's really fall now and getting dark so early, maybe because I'd gone looking for the necklace again today only to remember again that it's gone too ... Anyway, I felt and still feel kind of lonesome and sad.
I'm supposed to be going to another party tonight, a reading, which I don't really feel like going to. As soon as I finish writing this, though, I'm going to go anyway – in fact, I'm already dressed to go, with my green wool scarf scratching my chin a bit and the car keys weighing down my jacket pocket. No hat, though (harrumph).
There's this kind of loneliness that comes up when I'm alone, that is very easy to identify and that brings up all kinds of memories of feeling that way at different times of my life when I've been alone in the past ... but at the show this afternoon I was sitting alone at the edge of things, listening to mariachis and watching this beautiful old Mexican woman dance, and feeling like, "How come I'm so far away from my family? What am I really doing out here?" – when I suddenly remembered that I've just as often felt lonely surrounded by people who love me as I do at times when I'm by myself.
The loneliness, the feeling that something is missing ... it's just something that people feel, sometimes. Looking for a reason "why" my mind may settle on a missing necklace, or loved ones who are far away, but the return of all those things would not necessarily change the fact that sometimes, you just feel bereft. Adrift. A little afraid. At least I do. I can distract myself by going to a party, or I can stay at home and take a bath or read a book. Right now I would like to do anything to feel different.
Before I go I'm going to take just a few minutes to sit with this emotion. Try to make friends with it, a little.
It isn't my favorite feeling. But it's nothing that has to be "fixed," and it's nothing to be afraid of.
1 Comments:
If it helps, I feel the same sort of emptiness over the loss of seemingly small things. (And speaking of jewelry, years ago I lost two necklaces that I still wish I had.) It's almost 1:00 in the morning; I'm wondering how the reading went for you??
Post a Comment
<< Home