Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

- Mary Oliver

Antilamentation

Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, to the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the one
who crimped your toes, don't regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the living room couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You've walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You've traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the tv set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don't bother remembering any of it.
Let's stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.

-Dorianne Laux

Joy

joy

joi/

noun

noun: joy

1. 1.

   a feeling of great pleasure and happiness.

   "tears of joy"

Joy, today, was a simple thing.

It was picking up my dog, after a week apart, and being snuffled. It was putting on snow boots and a ridiculous hat and walking to the good bagel place, where it was all steamy and warm, for a toasted everything with veggie cream cheese. It was walking a little further, into the small independent bookshop that just opened today in my neighborhood, and geeking out over the coolness of jersey city. It was being on the train, blasting the same Ke$ha song on repeat five actual times and trying desperately not to dance. It was pulling into Hoboken where approximately 100 people dressed as santa claus piled trashily into my car.

It was, later, eating that bagel.

It's so easy to let bad emotions swallow you whole. Sadness, inferiority, stress, depression, anxiety. As a counter-balance its good to let the happy ones swell and rise up, too. When you can find them. Today they were easier to find, and I appreciated that.

Where the hell were all those Santas going, anyway?

Mercy

The music was fidgety, arch,
an orchestral version of twang.
Welcome to atonal hell,
welcome to the execution
of a theory, I kept thinking,
thinking, thinking. I hadn't felt
a thing. Was it old fashioned
of me to want to? Or were feelings,
as usual, part of the problem?
The conductor seemed to flail
more than lead,
his baton evidence
of something unresolved,
perhaps recent trouble at home.
And though I liked the cellist -
especially the way
she held her instrument -
unless you had a taste
for unhappiness
you didn't want to look
at the first violinists face.
My wife whispered to me
This music is better than it sounds.
I reminded myself the world outside
might be a worse place
than where I was now,
though that seemed little reason
to take heart. Instead
I closed my eyes, thought about
a certain mezzo soprano
who could gladden a sad day
anywhere, but one January night
in Milan went a full octave
into the beyond. Sometimes escape
can be an art, or a selfishness,
or just a gift you need
to give yourself. Whichever,
I disappeared for a while,
left my body to sit there, nod,
applaud at the appropriate time.

- Stephen Dunn

Empathy vs. Sympathy

"Vulnerability isn't good or bad. It's not what we call a dark emotion, nor is it always a light, positive experience. Vulnerability is the core of all emotions and feelings. To feel is to be vulnerable. To believe vulnerability is a weakness is to believe that feeling is a weakness. To foreclose on our emotional life out of a fear that the costs will be too high is to walk away from the very thing that gives purpose and meaning to living....Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path."

-Brene Brown, Daring Greatly

Parties, Appreciated

There's a lot of pressure in parties - both throwing and attending. Pressure of all kinds makes me feel itchy.

A casual "meet up at the bar" is no big deal. You have one drink, or maybe a few, you talk to your friends, laugh a little, eat something fried or with melted cheese on top, and you go home. No one is disappointed in a night like that.

If that casual bar-night escalates into shots of tequila, karaoke, and sweatily dancing to 80's hits at 2 am then for sure you are pleasantly surprised. You now have a win of an evening on your hands, my friend. All the more special for being unexpected.

But even if the night is quieter, it's still a-ok. Because, again, it was just a night at the bar.

Parties, in contrast, are pressurized. You must consider the quality of your outfit, the thoughtfulness of your gift, prepare to comment on the music, make pleasant small talk over by the snacks. Everyone must have F.U.N., or the whole encounter feels stiff and unpleasant and everyone, while smiling and eating cheese, really just wants to be home in their pajamas watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory.

I went to a fun party this weekend. Why was it successful? There are so many reasons.

1. Quality crowd, in the mood for a good time.
2. Excellent music selection, beginning with fun 80's stuff and escalating, slowly, in flawless tandem with the drinking, into current popular songs that inspire impromptu dance-offs.
3. Jello shots. I had six.
4. Cell phone pictures. With props. Too many.
5. The game "Heads Up" played to excess.
6. And of course, cheese. With bacon!

I overdrank. At one point I fell down. To be fair, in that moment I was pretending to be a sled, and a friend hopped on my back to "ride" me, so I feel my loss of balance was warranted. And yet.

Moments like that are the at-home equivalent of the casual bar night's descent (ascent?) into drunken jukebox singalongs followed by chaotic orders of general tso's for everyone, everyone!

They are more rare than wild herons. And I am appreciative.

Morning of the Gods

Is there anything better than waking up to a sun-filled bedroom after days of rain? No. There is not.

Oh wait, yes there is. The following must also be present for stellar-status to be achieved:

- One extraordinarily comfortable bed with pillows of excellence and a cozy blue blanket for snuggling.
- The coffee pot perking in the next room, promising the first hot cup of the day.
- A small gray dog, snoozy and slow, curled around your feet.
- A laptop, for writing senseless shit like this.
- Silence, excluding the comforting background whoosh of traffic.
- The idea that I don't have to see, or speak to, any human soul for hours and hours.

Bliss, friends. Bliss. If every Saturday morning was something like this, I'd be a better human being. In the meantime, I'll take what I can get.

On Debt

It's funny, how easy and instantaneous it is to accumulate massive debt. It's easier than ordering groceries on the internet. And I should know; I order a lot of online food.

I'm starting up grad school next month, and have been navigating the world of student loans as of late.

I was lucky, as an undergrad. I had solid scholarships, and my parents were in a good financial position to pick up much of the rest. I graduated with something like $18K in loans, which wasn't terrible. I decided to pay them interest-first, which was terrible. But what did I know when I set up the payment system at 22 and then walked away from it? I just wanted a cheap bill. I got what I asked for, and most of that debt still remains.

So - throw an entire MFA on the ol' tab, there. Why not?

I've had the loan in "pending" status on the school's website for awhile. My mouse would hover over the accept button and then I'd purposefully get distracted, move away, eat a donut, forget to finish. Until this morning at 8 a.m. when the financial aid office of the school called to hound me. "We can't process your loan if you don't accept it," said the nice lady. "Did you forget to log in? Did you lose your password?"

Oh well. Swallow, hit accept, walk away. Don't dare think about the future or you'll stop moving.