Author: ferylfiles

Last night, I got to go with friends who are family to a Norah Jones concert held here in town. The music was great, the people watching remarkable, the weather cool enough to merit the colorful Mexican blanket I brought once the sun went down. I have a fond place in my heart for Norah Jones’ music. When I was in the history graduate program at the University of Cincinnati, her two albums Come Away with Me and Feels Like Home were on regular rotation in my little apartment.

A couple of songs in particular transport me to the emotions and sensations of that time. Partway into that first year of the history grad program, I took a shine to an Americanist–someone studying American history (unlike me, a Europeanist–super fun to say out loud). He was a captivating story-teller. He looked at the world with a bit of wide-eyed wonder and delight. He exuded playfulness and gratitude and he was so so smart. We ended up spending a lot of time together as we were incredibly companionable. We never dated, although that had been my hope, but I was too afraid of the rejection to ask who I was to him. He enjoyed my company, but didn’t see me in a romantic way. I suspect he was afraid of hurting my feelings in answering that unspoken question. I’m sure having someone looking with the eyes of adoration didn’t make it any easier for him, either.

Last night, when Ms. Jones played “Lonestar” and “What Am I To You?” I remembered so much of that time but in vignettes and flashes like memory does 20 years later. Since that time, I found a person with whom I knew who I was, to him, to me, to us. Then, a paradigm shift was foisted on me. So much of the time since has been this bobbing boat on choppy seas trying to figure out a new way of being. While in my grief and vulnerability, I found myself asking the same question in the song. Last night, though, something crystallized in my mind. With the right people, the answer to the question is obvious–with the friends I went to the concert with it’s easy and safe, warm and sunny. And with confidence, maturity and hard-earned wisdom, the question also becomes “What Am I To Me?”

For your listening pleasure:

Sometimes I want to share and not do a deep dive in writing while doing so. For your listening enjoyment, I’ve done some whimsical, possibly hilarious, self-analysis. Enjoy.

Songs that are not about me, but I wish they were:

1. “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot

2. “Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred

3. “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen

Songs that could be about me, but I wish they weren’t:

1. “All Four Seasons” by Sting

2. “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” by Willie Nelson

3. “Just Like a Woman” by Bob Dylan

Songs that might be about me, and I’d be okay if they were:

1. “The Friendship Song” by Carbon Leaf

2. “All She Wants to Do is Dance” by Don Henley

3. “Legs” by ZZ Top

What’s on your list? 🙂

When I was a teenager, I would get really frustrated with around-the-bend thinking that permeated our home. “It’ll be better when…” we move out of this apartment, when the debts are paid, when I lose weight, etc. Milestones met only meant new bends up ahead.

I’d like to make a distinction between having goals for the future and around-the-bend thinking. A goal for the future might be getting specific training to do more specialized work in order to have a higher income and maybe a little less stress around bill-paying. Around-the-bend thinking is believing the new job that pays better due to the acquired skillset suddenly means all problems will disappear and happiness will reign forever and ever amen. I’m an absolute believer in setting goals and tackling them. I have no illusions that they will make me any happier, more peaceful or grateful than I am in this moment. Many of my greatest experiences, relationships built, joy nuggets discovered occurred in the interstitial spaces between goals.

I grew up in a faith with a very strong eschatological tradition. Really bad things will come right before the really good thing, in laymens terms. More specifically the time of trouble is the opening act before judgment and then (hopefully) heaven. The around-the-bend thinking is baked in. But there are a couple of things that I can’t help but consider. We are here now. Here. Now. This is our scope of influence. This time. This place.

Once, when I was much younger, I approached my Dad about this topic with a lot of fear and panic because the fear was baked in too. What did he think about the end days, the time of trouble, the last act of humanity on this planet? In his gentle wisdom he said, “Bec, we don’t know when our end of days is. It could be tomorrow, by a bus.” I’ve reflected on that a lot especially as I watch fires and wars, heck even pestilence occur. I have watched too many people I love have their end of days. I’m not trying to undermine anyone else’s faith. I’m still hammering mine out, that’s for sure. For me, for now, it is navigating this space and time with gratitude and a clear eye of what is. Around this bend, guess what, there’s another bend. But dang, the blue herons here are beautiful. The Queen Anne’s lace reminds me of my mama. And I’m happy to be.here.now.

I’m sitting at my kitchen bistro table looking across at a mostly-empty chair. It’s got some clean laundry draped across the back because of course it does. I’m listening to men with guitars sing to me as I try to hydrate for another scorcher of a day. I’m reminiscing as Sunday morning brings back memories of Sundays past. Bryan and I could absolutely make the most of a weekend and I miss that sense of adventure with him. Want to go to Mr. Ed’s for breakfast? Yes. Want to go for a walk? Yes. Hey, there’s an open house a couple of streets over at 1pm, wanna go? Yep. Maybe our friends would like to meet out at Quirk, let’s text ’em. Okay, that sounds fun. Call Mary, see if she’d like to come over this week for quesadillas. Shifting, adapting, open to possibilities and serendipity wherever it might come. And doing that together. What absolute bliss.

Now, I do some of those things still. Sometimes I reach out to friends, family, loved ones to see if they’d like to join in, but they have lives and families and schedules I’m not privy to. My heart aches for the companionship I shared with my person. The ease with which we walked this earth was remarkable and so sweet.

Today, I’ll probably go for another walk before it gets stupid hot. I’ll water the garden and paint and listen to more music. Maybe this evening I’ll go get a scoop of salted licorice ice cream from the Pine Cone Creamery and listen to live music downtown. Maybe I’ll do laundry and grocery shopping. Maybe I’ll curl up on the couch and cry a little. The possibilities are endless and all of them without him.