A Narrow Line

Rough waters this summer. My emotional state is like a fine wine, full of varied and often contradictory notes. Beyond a general sense of drifting, your guess is as good as mine as to how I feel most of the time. I feel like a perspective change is in order, but it’s not presented itself yet.

In response to this inner whirling, it’s important to do what I can to stay grounded. The little activities and routines of daily life provide an anchor to keep me from going hopelessly adrift.

Sometimes using words is inadequate. We must communicate the ineffable in other ways, with music or art or poetry, with our whole being.

Sometimes even that’s not enough.

Running in the heat is a glorious effort. Sweat pours from my body, my muscles and lungs working to propel me forward on the sidewalk. In the initial moments there is a struggle, a fight against the work, but soon it is resolved, the barrier falls and there is nothing left but running. Nothing but the effort. There is repose there, in the eye of the storm.

I am in Texas presently, enjoying time with my family. When I land back in Boston, there’s a host of raw newness to deal with. It’s hard not to worry about it at times, even when there’s nothing to be done.

I’ve gotten around, finally, to reading Perdido Street Station, which is as good a novel as I was told it was. The concept of transition is strong in the book, and it resonates with me. That place of transition is a narrow line, if it’s there at all. What would it be like to be fearless of that, to set up shop there permanently? Is it possible or desirable? I don’t know.

I know that I feel the transitions ahead, see them on the horizon. I’m not afraid, nor do I welcome them with joyous open arms. I wait and anticipate, and have my share of worry.