Have you ever noticed it’s much easier to write about sad things, or dramatic things than the quiet happiness of life? One of the only writers I know whose joy is as evocative as his pain is e.e. cummings:
“i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing”,
“i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees”.
I know most of you have been reading the blog and wondering why my writing seems so familiar, so evocative, so... so... poetic, really. Well, I hate to make you miss your daily dose of poetry in action, so here goes:
Yesterday we went
out for our ninth wedding
See! See how hard it is to write about glad things?
Actually, Jrex gave me a poem last night, which was good. He’s a wonderful writer. It's very hard for him because he uses words so precisely, but that's what makes him good: he puts words to my previously vague thoughts. And it was a whole poem about ME and how glad he is that I’m still here.
[Now I'm fighting my instincts to crack a joke, thus deflecting the focus from something tender (and therefore sappy and therefore girly and therefore teasable—I grew up surrounded by boys). It would be easier to write about our severely bored waitress who said, “Oh, it’s your first time here, let me walk you through the menu” in the same tone someone would drone, “The morgue is this way, please follow me.” Isn’t it her job to be happy we’re there? But that’s Baltimore for you: “If I have to serve you, I sure as heck don’t have to do it with a smile.”]
The truth is, though, that we've been through a lot in the past nine years. Both of us still being here is one of our best accomplishments so far in life. And sometimes that's all it takes: still being here. Listening again. Deciding again to commit to each other. Deciding to make time for tears, jokes, and laughter. Giving each other another do-over. Deciding again to invest in each other's happiness.