Note to Self

Still in the midst of a funk, not so surprising with the windy, foggy, grey weather for six days straight, the return of some chronic dizziness and still reeling from a betrayal hinted at in these last posts. Playing a little game with myself, I wondered what news could possibly come from the outside to lift me out of it and my first go-to answers were revealing. I imagined things like the interview invite from Terry Gross or Oprah, the Podcast gone viral or a Netflix offer to film my Jazz, Joy & Justice book. Interesting that my choices are all about recognition and accomplishment. But when it comes to true healing, that’s exactly what it’s not about. 

 

We all should give ourselves a stern talking-to every now and then and here is mine. I don’t need more recognition or respect or appreciation or mild adoration. All of that, like my favorite quote about money (“How much is enough?” “Just a little bit more.”), are insatiable. They will never be enough.

 

Instead, I just want what we all do— genuine friendship, enjoyment in my company (and vice-versa) and a love that sees all my foibles and loves me anyway. Perhaps loves me because of them. 

 

This is not easy to share publicly, a confession more vulnerable than my usual, but I’ve done my best to be honest here about whatever’s happening for me, highs and lows. Mostly in hopes that others recognize themselves there as well and here we are, together, all the walking wounded just keeping each other company with a spot of tea or coffee and pastry. 

 

Years back, I wrote a poem about it, revealing more than I usually do here, but hey, while I’m at it, why not include it? It is me talking to me, in the most honest voice I could find.

 

These days, most every place you travel to

 

          is where you wholly belong, 

 

arrived at through the ten thousand small steps

 

       you have been walking your whole life long.

 

guided by the thread of your steadfast loyalty

 

    to the things that fit your peculiar blend of being. 

 

 

From childhood, you’ve moved forward confident

 

   that you would arrive and yet… 

 

always slightly astonished to find yourself there, always

 

        the sliver of doubt that you are worthy and deserving. 

 

 

Along the way, you have learned to turn loneliness

 

     to solitude, lovelessness to a love 

 

for all of humanity. 

 

 

But in the end, it is not enough. 

 

Humanity won’t bring soup when you’re sick 

 

             or cast a flirtatious eye or 

 

                 hold you close simply to share the wonder of it all. 

 

 

This you did not expect. That all the love you hoped to give

 

       and all the love you hoped to get

 

              is still waiting to arrive.