limbo on the train
My direction on the periphery, I feel in the right space, on the right square, in the most appropriate conversation as long as I don't turn my head. Because when I do, it all evaporates and the ground, so seemingly solid a moment before when the mantra, it will all work out, held firm, drops out. A surprise trap door in the boards, deus ex machina in reverse. A mean trick. So much fairy dust. The rainbow of promise lost, refraction misaligned for color when both eyes gaze.
So many words. Too many. But I can't choose or eliminate. The problem ever and always, perennially, recurrent and perpetual. The constant constant. The unvariable. Decisions never my thing.
Thankfully, by default and Divine interference, I'm surrounded by doers and deciders. The only reason I've been anywhere or done anything are the uber motivated individuals with whom I've fallen, by some greater grace, into favor. Come with, they say. Go here, they urge (ticket proffered, itinerary filled out, anxieties soothed before I've stressed). Left to myself, I'd nap a lot, I think. I'd eat even more canned olives than I already do. My hair would grow to my feet, the only motivation to cut it, the frustration and trouble of tripping.
"No decision, is a decision," my Auntie Mame always says.
"Just start," advises Audra. "The more you say you're bad at it, the truer it will be."
"I hate making decisions," Steph types as we chat online.
"Me too," I tap back, "but I just don't know how."
"We should practice!!" she suggests.
"Totally! But, um, again. . .how?"
Truthfully, important decisions get made, I tell myself. Or so I've always thought. But here I am, without a place of my own to call my own. My old apartment half-disassembled, a quarter boxed and completely unlivable. My bed in an unsleepable Siberia, next door to the wackos with whom I simply cannot share a roof, let alone a wall.
Lease broken, I'm up and out May 31.
Momentary panic: WHERE AM I GOING TO LIVE!?!?
And then I look away. Out of the corner of my eye, I feel more than see the glint of a signal beacon. If I don't strain, I can hear the faint gong of a bell across the water, muffled by the fog, but distinct. And for realsies (to steal from Jill Twiss for a moment), and not simply for effect or in metaphor, I saw a rainbow the other day. And it was at the exact same moment that the guy on NPR began talking about the hidden symbolism in Da Vinci's "The Last Supper." And that's not the least bit relevant, except that it made me think.
Sometimes what's on the surface isn't the whole story. Perhaps the where of where I'm not isn't entirely because I can't decide. Perhaps it's merely a moment on the way, a blink on the train. I'm still en route and there's nothing wrong with that. So. I'm deciding to wait and see what that surprise is, confident in the knowledge that it will, indeed, all work out.
* * *
When I wrote this on Saturday, I didn't have a place to stay come June. The happy middle -- end not yet in sight -- is that I now do. I'm moving in with a friend next month for an indefinite period of time while she's selling her house, while I'm getting ducks sorted and labeled. So limbo continues. Still, I can't express clearly enough how each stepping stone, appearing as they do right as it seems I'm about to drop into the water, reaffirms my faith, my joy in the knowledge that everything is happening just as it should. Pretty cool, huh?
So many words. Too many. But I can't choose or eliminate. The problem ever and always, perennially, recurrent and perpetual. The constant constant. The unvariable. Decisions never my thing.
Thankfully, by default and Divine interference, I'm surrounded by doers and deciders. The only reason I've been anywhere or done anything are the uber motivated individuals with whom I've fallen, by some greater grace, into favor. Come with, they say. Go here, they urge (ticket proffered, itinerary filled out, anxieties soothed before I've stressed). Left to myself, I'd nap a lot, I think. I'd eat even more canned olives than I already do. My hair would grow to my feet, the only motivation to cut it, the frustration and trouble of tripping.
"No decision, is a decision," my Auntie Mame always says.
"Just start," advises Audra. "The more you say you're bad at it, the truer it will be."
"I hate making decisions," Steph types as we chat online.
"Me too," I tap back, "but I just don't know how."
"We should practice!!" she suggests.
"Totally! But, um, again. . .how?"
Truthfully, important decisions get made, I tell myself. Or so I've always thought. But here I am, without a place of my own to call my own. My old apartment half-disassembled, a quarter boxed and completely unlivable. My bed in an unsleepable Siberia, next door to the wackos with whom I simply cannot share a roof, let alone a wall.
Lease broken, I'm up and out May 31.
Momentary panic: WHERE AM I GOING TO LIVE!?!?
And then I look away. Out of the corner of my eye, I feel more than see the glint of a signal beacon. If I don't strain, I can hear the faint gong of a bell across the water, muffled by the fog, but distinct. And for realsies (to steal from Jill Twiss for a moment), and not simply for effect or in metaphor, I saw a rainbow the other day. And it was at the exact same moment that the guy on NPR began talking about the hidden symbolism in Da Vinci's "The Last Supper." And that's not the least bit relevant, except that it made me think.
Sometimes what's on the surface isn't the whole story. Perhaps the where of where I'm not isn't entirely because I can't decide. Perhaps it's merely a moment on the way, a blink on the train. I'm still en route and there's nothing wrong with that. So. I'm deciding to wait and see what that surprise is, confident in the knowledge that it will, indeed, all work out.
* * *
When I wrote this on Saturday, I didn't have a place to stay come June. The happy middle -- end not yet in sight -- is that I now do. I'm moving in with a friend next month for an indefinite period of time while she's selling her house, while I'm getting ducks sorted and labeled. So limbo continues. Still, I can't express clearly enough how each stepping stone, appearing as they do right as it seems I'm about to drop into the water, reaffirms my faith, my joy in the knowledge that everything is happening just as it should. Pretty cool, huh?
posted by jill at 5/16/2006 06:35:00 AM
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