The significant, life-forming times are the dull, in-between times. -- Jan Karon
Sometimes I get homesick for the way things used to be. For faces that are more home than any house is. For patterns and moments already past.
For the feel of a certain kind of night (the velvet fog, the street light tenting down, that one path, the paper coffee cup, remember?). For the smell of a particular day.
And sometimes I get homesick for things that haven't happened at all.
I find myself saying the same things over and over in conversations. Do you get this way too? I hear my own voice echoing around my ears later: We'll see, I keep saying. We'll see, we'll see, we'll see.
Just to switch things up, I also say: I'm learning a lot!
It's in a perky voice, too, and I wonder who I'm trying to convince: my listeners, or my own stubbornly scared self.
Maybe I say, I'm learning a lot, to drown out the little whine that begs, but could I please just learn one thing at a time?
Do we need seventeen lessons all thrumming along at once? Because I'm feeling just the littlest bit sore and tired.
The air is extra-charged, and any moment the spark will come, will set everything off. Maybe burn off all this mist, and then I can see clearly. (We'll see.)
I usually don't mind learning. But sometimes, I don't want to we'll see, I want to know. To have learned.
To get out of the car at the end of the road, stretch my legs, get the crick out of my back, and smile and smile.
Poor cowardly heart. Poor cranky brain.