Thursday, August 2, 2012


I cry a lot.

I've never been exactly stoic, but my mid-Western upbringing has resulted in a certain reserve.  Since the arrival of the Golem, I cry more.  Not a sad, life-is-hopeless, Lifetime Movie of the Week, Church of Perpetual Victimhood sort of cry.  In fact sometimes it seems more physical than emotional, my body telling me: you need to do this to be healthy, don't fight it, just accept it, get a kleenex, ride it out.  So.  I cry at parent-teacher conferences. I cry at the doctor's office.  I cry during corny movies.  I cry during the Olympics.

I've told friends only half jokingly that my internal no-crying-in-public editor is broken.  There is some truth in that.

At Rockygrass, last week, my wife and I were toward the front of the stage, dancing to a string of bluegrass Dead covers, having a wonderful time, quite literally perfect, and suddenly the moment bifurcated, split in two, we were living two lives, the perfect moment in front of us and its shadow: the daunting and bittersweet realization that we might not have too many more of these together.

We quit dancing. We cried for awhile together, went back to our spot by the water, watched the river flow.  The idea of the world splitting in two, forming the real world and the shadow world, remains.

There's a great line from Bernard Malamud's The Natural that comes to mind.  "We have two lives... the life we learn with and the life we live after that. Suffering is what brings us towards happiness."



Rebecca H said...

The two of you were the definition of grace at RockyGrass. bx/ND

Sarah Sometimes said...

I want you all to be okay.

Jo said...

It's a beautiful love you're in and I wish you peace.

Willwood said...

If I may paraphrase Elmore L "there is a mile of talent between experiencing feelings and expressing them in writing". Good job.