I had a whole crazy week this past week. I started a new job and kept my old job so now I have two part time jobs, and while lots of things about that are exactly what I want, starting a new job is always stressful. It’s uphill. It’s learning new expectations, new organizational principles, and also trying to bring your best skills to bear on making the thing happen that you were brought in to make happen.
I’ve been writing a novel and a play. Every day I wake up and figure out which one I want to think about that day. I put the ideas in a corner of my mind where it can simmer like a slow cooker all day, and the flavors and smells merge while the muscle tissues break apart and open up new and delicious flavors. Too much food analogy, but I’ve been enjoying the simmer, writing things up at the end of the day and intermittently throughout.
There was a poem I wrote, so I’m sharing it.
The Mud coffee truck said cash only so I went into the church.
My heart ached. The world called. I kneeled. Head bowed.
Hands clasped tight and so too my eyes.
Opening them, the darkness of the church was brighter.
The words on either side of the alter clearer:
“This is my son in whom I am well pleased.
…as I love you love one another”
The brightness of the sentiment
Did not reach my heart
I did not float on joy the way I’d wanted to.
Emerging into the dregs of winter, the hope of spring
I felt a renewed willingness
To not be burned up
Yesterday C and I and my friend M, who joined us for most of it, had a magic New York Day, where you feel like the whole city is yours, that every blossom has bloomed for your enjoyment alone, where every luscious note spilling out from afternoon jazz clubs is a reason to drop everything for an impromptu sidewalk dance party. I remember these days from when I was a kid, traversing city blocks with my mom in summertime, popping into shops for the air conditioning, and out again to the dazzling heat. Stopping for ice cream, then pizza, then ice cream again. Watching the people, their movements and clothes, their relationships. Gurgling fountains, street music, dashing across streets before the mad onslaught of taxis barreling their way uptown. To all the kids growing up in this town, know that this city is yours. It belongs to you, it is part of you, you are part of it. Let no one tell you it’s not.