A new day
I'm looking forward to this day. I just saw my children and my wife into the spawnhauler. They're taking off for a daytrip. I decided to stay behind to work. I was astonished, and very moved, by the tears in the eyes of my pre-teen in training when she heard the news. I know things are going very well between the two of us, but I didn't know I mattered that much to her. I almost changed my mind, but we compromised by agreeing to spend some 'uptown' time together on the weekend. We'll go sit at the Italian place and have some gelato, and then wander down the street to 'do the books' at this great little independent store.
As I watched the van drive away, it reminded me that, last year, on sabbatical, this was pretty much my life. I'd crawl out of bed, make coffee in my underwear, help get the day started and then be left to myself for a few hours of solitude and writing. I can't see the ocean from here, and the sound of the wind in the trees has been replaced by the murmur of trucks on Main Street, but it still feels luxurious to have time stretching before me with nothing to do with the hours but play with ideas, write a bit, look up a few facts. I think it's possible that I'm close to finding what I want out of life. I want a little bit less of what I have now, and a little bit more of what I have extended before me, so far still out of my grasp, but ever so slightly closer to being within reach. It's a funny thing how you can spend 48 years struggling, meandering, halting and then going backwards, turning in circles, sitting in despair with hands over eyes, curling up in bed without a clue as to what should happen next and then, finally, achieve a little window of clarity and say: "Oh. Wow. That was so easy. Why did this take me so long?"
My wife and I had a short, whispered conversation in bed last night. We were both thinking much the same thing and reached agreement in an instant. In two years, our lives could look very different. We can see the path. We just need to avoid any serious stumbles. As I write these words, I remember following boy wonder down the sidewalk this morning. He took off in excitement when he heard the siren of a firetruck. Soon he was airborne. Then came the Polysporin.
As I watched the van drive away, it reminded me that, last year, on sabbatical, this was pretty much my life. I'd crawl out of bed, make coffee in my underwear, help get the day started and then be left to myself for a few hours of solitude and writing. I can't see the ocean from here, and the sound of the wind in the trees has been replaced by the murmur of trucks on Main Street, but it still feels luxurious to have time stretching before me with nothing to do with the hours but play with ideas, write a bit, look up a few facts. I think it's possible that I'm close to finding what I want out of life. I want a little bit less of what I have now, and a little bit more of what I have extended before me, so far still out of my grasp, but ever so slightly closer to being within reach. It's a funny thing how you can spend 48 years struggling, meandering, halting and then going backwards, turning in circles, sitting in despair with hands over eyes, curling up in bed without a clue as to what should happen next and then, finally, achieve a little window of clarity and say: "Oh. Wow. That was so easy. Why did this take me so long?"
My wife and I had a short, whispered conversation in bed last night. We were both thinking much the same thing and reached agreement in an instant. In two years, our lives could look very different. We can see the path. We just need to avoid any serious stumbles. As I write these words, I remember following boy wonder down the sidewalk this morning. He took off in excitement when he heard the siren of a firetruck. Soon he was airborne. Then came the Polysporin.
posted by Colin at 9:33 AM
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