One day, I know, it will be otherwise
This has been one of those weeks, or two, when I'm constantly struck by how fortunate I am. I am healthy, as are the people most important to me - Enrico, my parents, my sister. I have good friends - not legions of them, being an introvert, but the ones I have are golden. We have a nice little house, more than many can afford now in this overpriced city, and I have the peace of mind to not crave bigger, more luxurious digs. I've travelled the world a bit, and I live in a beautiful corner of it. Heck, I even have a backup country in case my difference of opinion with this one becomes so great that we have to part ways.
This week Enrico and I went out for a fancy dinner and a nightclub show, to hear a very talented French group called Paris Combo (seriously, people, buy their CDs). I studied music for many years, thinking to become a classical musician, and I ended up as a French major in college, so as I sat in the nightclub sipping champagne, I found myself noticing the interesting time signatures in the songs, and following along with the French lyrics, and I thought - how fortunate am I, that I've had the luxury of learning about music and languages, so I can sit here and not only enjoy this music on an aesthetic level, but appreciate it on other levels as well?
Having steadily held jobs since the week I turned 15 and was legally able to earn a wage, a couple years ago I just walked away from so-called "permanent" employment, and now I get to do interesting work, frequently in my pajamas, largely on my own terms. Yeah, the income is unpredictable and we rely on Enrico for financial stability and the all-important health benefits. I never, ever forget what I owe him for that, since life in The Bureaucracy can be pretty mind-numbing for someone as bright and energetic as Enrico. But for the past month I've been working hard, with evening and weekend hours and a very tiring trip out of town, and yet for the past two days while everybody else was at work, and the cold rain came down relentlessly outside, I slept, and read murder mysteries. Because that's what my brain and my body wanted to do, and I could indulge it. How great is that? I think about the millions - billions - of people who have to work themselves to the bone every day just to keep a roof over their head and food on their table, and it seems to me that my good fortune is downright astonishing.
Many times I find myself frustrated with the way things are happening in the world, and wondering if I'm becoming complacent and detached in my fortunate little life; I have this sense that I should be able to DO something more to make things different, as if a grand idea is just on the tip of my tongue, waiting for me to formulate it clearly and charge forward. But then I think, maybe I'm not that person, who charges forth into the world and leaves a mark. I also have the feeling that perhaps the world is poised for big change, that the molecules of the world order have become sufficiently unstable that they will blow apart and form something new, which just heightens my sense of anticipation and also gratitude for what I have, lest it get blown away in the winds of change.
Regardless, eventually things will change. People I care about will get sick, and die, and there will be bumps in the road. In my experience, unhappiness has a way of expanding to fill all available mental space, so that a small, niggling unhappiness and a big, earthshaking one can somehow seem equally absorbing. So I want to capture this moment of gratitude and amazement, and hold onto it as best I can. A moment best described by my favorite poet, the late Jane Kenyon, in her wonderful poem, Otherwise.
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