I read somewhere recently that
what we value is made clear by what we risk.
The thought has been rolling around in my mind,
much like a marble in a hollow space.
A bit too loud.
I'm sitting here, curled up on the pink couch in the studio,
washed in late morning light.
Moby's Everloving soft on the speakers.
I've been in this space for nearly two years.
And even as I love it, I'm already prepared to leave it.
What a strange, sputtering start to the new year.
I tend to appreciate clean cuts on my situational endings,
no dragging things about and across the line
between December and January.
Or anytime, for that matter.
Any length of waiting exhausts me with the sort of jittery energy
that only the not knowing can bestow.
But it's given me time to think
and with the waiting and the thinking come the questions.
Oh, those questions.
I've gotten bad about writing out my feelings-
now when I try to do so, I often become bottlenecked and
emotionally spent before letting a single emotion go.
I find the mental exercise frustrating, preferring instead
a nap or a hammer,
or a round of combat at the local gym.
The relief of disengagement.
But it always comes back, the understanding that
there are things I must settle upon, accept, and understand.
The knowledge that I'm going to have to breathe out and look inward.
Primarily accept, I suppose, but I've always been the stubborn one,
and I come by it honestly.
Why accept it if you don't like it, I say to an empty room.
And from somewhere deep down in my ribs,
I hear a gentle whisper,
Because you might not be able to change it this time."
The not so fresh news I've been tucking away
in my heart's back pocket-
it would seem that there will be no baby.
Barring a miracle, we cannot.
Who would have thought,
with an instant and unplanned pregnancy five years ago,
that this would be the case now.
Parents before we were ready,
and now ready . . . but unable.
I look at The Monkey with a heart full of gratitude
for all I've been given,
even as I mourn what he might never have.
There are of course, a thousand other feelings swimming around inside me regarding this news,
but these are the two purest I can identify.
A confused sort of demi-awareness
that this news means at once nothing at all,
I look around the studio space and think of
the creative haven it has been.
A place for making.
And now what I want to make the most, I cannot make.
So strange, this life!
Something happens to the creative drive when you
can't create life but want to.
I find myself bursting with unspent creativity in one minute,
and burning dry the next.
An ebb and flow of battery acid.
A spark in the pan.
Today is the first time I've put it in writing.
Connected to but not completely dependent on the would-be child,
is the issue of a new home.
I feel restless, and I want to go someplace new.
Someplace in need of restoration and love.
I want a home with a soul.
Old construction, ample space to breathe and move,
and ample light to keep my spirits in the sun.
I would like a place that feels like it was made for me,
that feels like home within and without.
We had found one but the numbers didn't crunch
in that necessary and appetizing way.
Now we've found another, a 1935, 3500 square foot dream.
That rolling marble comes to a stop,
and in the resulting silence,
I think differently.
Maybe I value my dreams more than my reality,
and is that bad?
Maybe the risk shows I still have hope.
It is afterall, my life.
So do you buy a larger house for a family
that you cannot be certain will ever grow larger?
Do you move forward and into a home
that can support the life you want as opposed
to the life you have?
Prepare for the dream in case it comes true?
And surely faith must come into play somewhere in all this.
We found this place with a barn out back,
bricked in for preservation purposes
but all original on the inside.
I can see me here.
And the house itself,
fiercely in need of walls broken down-
but then again, I need that too.
I'll stand still, I promise, if you go find a hammer.
And we could shift the inner chambers and rooms,
and let fresh air blow the dust and doubt away.
A financial risk-
it needs a lot of work.
It needs time and patience.
It needs an internal makeover.
Maybe that's why I feel it fits me so well.
We both need something.
Learning to accept even as you are determined to dream?
It's important to do both.
Balancing the two and moving forward, every step
somehow fatigue and somehow hope.
A strange blend of blessings.
Life is good.
I know it.
Yet right or wrong,
While thankful for all I've got,
I feel incomplete.
I want more than this.