Of the Present Value of Things

For M.S., who navigates well.

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Today snuck up on me. Somewhere between splashing in the pool w/a million small children and Yo La Tengo in my ears on the stairclimber, wedged in between days of travel and deep connections with friends, I have forgotten to think about New Year's Eve and all of her crushing expectation. It hit me, tonight still clad in yoga pants and smelling of chlorine, that today is that day that I sit and comb through time, inspect the year for all of the scrapes and bruises, for the sweet bits and revelations. But I've done none of that, here in one of the most complex, sad, happy, confusing, heartbreaking, ass-kicking, wonderful, horrible years of my life. I was too busy loving on my kids, taking care of my body, talking with my sister, being in the moment. And this is it, this is the instruction that I needed, revealed to me in a trip to the restroom where I paused for a moment to realize that today was today. Be here. Quit living with one eye in the rearview mirror, sad for loss and wishing for what never was going to be. Cut your losses and recognize the sunk costs, today is here with the smell of piñon smoke and tomorrow will be another thing altogether. The world has given you so much, Fran. Pray to whatever force that settles the world that you are here to begin to pay it back, with your whole heart saying yes.

Yes.

This moment feels like so much "YES.", loaded at the precipice of so many things, the wind rushing through to slam doors shut and open others. YES. That wind is miraculous, cleansing, fresh like a boat plowing through the South China Sea, fresh like the morning wrapped in a blanket as dawn comes up. I remember this, you see, so many years ago when my younger self was transported through space on a ship, across water, to so many far away places. I remember the feeling of things becoming, rose fingered dawn slipping across the horizon of water, the vibration that everything was possible. There, so many years ago, my heart didn't know what was next but it was wrapped in freedom and lit with possibility. I loved that girl, her curiosity, her laughter, her intensity, her ease at shouldering her pack and heading off into whatever port had come to call. She's not gone so far away, the smell of the sea reaching far inland, beckoning. Put on your traveling shoes, sister. The next chapter awaits.