Wild Geese

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 the 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

* * * * *

A very special thank you to Paul Constant of The Stranger for posting this.

An Open Letter of Apology

Dear You,

Remember when you and I went to see The Princess Bride at the outdoor theater in Winter Park? What a random memory, right? One of many innocuous nights you and I spent together. Every time I see it now, I cry at the same line:

"You truly love each other, and so you might have been truly happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the storybooks say. And so I think no man in a century will suffer as greatly as you will."

We did. We truly loved each other.

There is something I never told you, something I am ashamed that I have never told you.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry it has taken me this long to realize how badly I fucked it up.

I'm sorry I slept with other men, even after we broke up.

I'm sorry I enjoyed it.

I'm sorry I couldn't talk to you.

I'm sorry I couldn't save it.

I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough for myself.

I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough for you.

I'm sorry I couldn't force myself off the couch.

I'm sorry I lied to you about the phone.

I'm sorry I left right when things seemed to be on the upswing.

I'm sorry for everything I've ever said to hurt you.

I'm sorry for everything I've ever done to hurt you.

"They say friends don't destroy one another. What do they know about friends?"
-The Mountain Goats

We destroyed one another, sweetheart.

You know we did, and so do I.

And I'm sorry.

I love you more than I could ever hope to articulate.

You are, after all this time, my best friend, my best lover, and the man with whom I would give anything to share my life.

I love you.

And I'm sorry.

You Say You Want a Resolution...

Dear 2009,

Please be as amazing a year as 2008 was.

Please let me keep my close friends closer, and collect a few new ones along the way.

Please let me find a way to co-exist with my Dark Passenger. I can't stress how vitally important this one is. I don't really like to talk about my Dark Passenger with anyone, but I need this. I really need this.

Please let me go on more amazing adventures and excursions.

Please let him be as good for me as I believe he could be, and please let me not be afraid of it. I know the fact that he already knows my Dark Passenger (though he hasn't truly met her) and doesn't seem to be afraid of her is a Very Good Sign, but I'm still scared. Please let me find a way not to be.

Please let me be more open about my Dark Passenger with others who have one as well.

Please let me find a way to be fearless and selective at the same time.

Please let me find a way to repair friendships that have been damaged because of my own fuck-ups, especially with Rachel.

Please let me find a way to be Calm, Centered, and Focused.

Please let him be happy. I want nothing more than for him to be happy, even if I'm going to be playing a less active roll in his life than I would like. He is the very definition of a True Friend.

Please let me find the strength and courage to do what I need to do and get done what needs to get done.

Please let the Giants continue to have a good season (and next season as well), and to NOT make stupid draft choices. SAY NO TO TIM TEBOW. I know he isn't entering the draft this year and I don't care how good a quarterback he is, I don't want a fucking Gator Graduate throwing to my receivers.

Last year was a good year. Let's do that again, except that one thing. Shall we?

With Cautious Optimism,

-Jennifer

Contentment

If I could finish college and teach children to love music as much as I do and watch it impact their lives the way it changed mine.

If I could fall in love and get married once and forever.

If I could have a daughter, and teach her to love herself and watch her grow into a beautiful, strong, independent woman.

If I could travel the world.

If I could write a book.

If I could have those things, I would be content.

I don't need a huge house, three cars, or a condo overlooking Lake Michigan or Central Park.

I don't need a lot of money, just enough to have a home, raise my family, and travel. Money doesn't buy happiness, it breeds misery.

I don't need Florida State to win the national championship every year, or the Giants to win every super bowl, but it would be nice once in a while.

There are a lot of things I don't need.

But if I could have those things, a partner who loves me, three children, a cat, to teach music, and have the means to travel, that's all I need. And that's all I want.

On Life and Pork Chops

There are a certain set of things people learn, usually by certain ages. Some of these things include walking, talking, using the bathroom, and learning to dress yourself. There is a sense of pride in the eyes of a child who has learned to do these things. I watched a child learn to walk once...she didn't quite do it while I was watching, but she was so close and she knew it. It was truly amazing. I still remember how I felt when I taught my brother to read, and how I felt the first time I heard him read to himself.

When you hit high school, you learn another set of life skills. How to ditch class in the library with your best friend without getting detention. How to sneak off campus for lunch. How to hide contraband (alcohol, marijuana, porn, sex toys, condoms) from your parents. Adolescence is all about secrecy and boundaries. Also, siblings exist for corruption, safe rides, and scapegoats. I owe my brother at least a week of favors for just one incident last year. (This is where I pause and tell him, "Now, if you hadn't gotten your stupid self caught, neither of us would have been hauled in for questioning.") To this day, I pray to the Patron Saint of Sex (Dan Savage) that my mother doesn't find my Bag of Toys before I get to bring them back to Chicago with me.

I was twenty-three when I moved out of my parents house. I had my own little home, complete with high speed internet, cable TV, a very comfortable green couch, and a long-term boyfriend. The boyfriend and I made excellent roommates. I didn't really know how to cook (I could bake, and I could make pasta, ramen, and eggs.) and didn't really trust myself to make meat. We resolved this by having him cook the majority of our meals (and I helped, sometimes) and I did the laundry and other such things. After a while, I stopped being afraid of the kitchen. I remember how I felt the first time I made some chicken when he wasn't home and I was feeling brave enough to try it myself. It was delicious. I could cook!

It's two and a half years later. After spending six months with my parents, I'm in another apartment, in another city, with another roommate, with another set of friends, and another boyfriend. I made barbecue pork chops with rice. There is still a satisfying sense of pride when I shovel the last stray grains of rice onto the fork and shove it in my mouth, knowing I did this, I made this.

And it was good, too.