A Long December, March style

It is a gorgeous, clear Saturday morning. Coming back from teaching my English class, I have the windows in Ashley’s white Corolla cracked, and the fierce wind is whipping my hair around. The fresh air feels good and contrasts the words blasting through the speakers.

The smell of hospitals in winter/ and the feeling that it’s all a lot of oysters, but no pearls…

I’ve spent more time in hospitals in the last month than I probably have in the entirety of the rest of my life. That’s more a testimony to how very blessed my family and I have been in terms of health than anything else, and for that I am grateful; but the unfamiliarity I have with hospitals makes me feel entirely awkward in them. Am I talking too loud? Is it okay to laugh? What do you say to a man who is dying?

Suffice to say I have learned the smell of hospitals in winter. And in this moment, I’m glad to breathe the rushing outdoor air.

All at once you look across a crowded room/ to see the way that light attaches to a girl…

That’s a random transition in the song, I muse to myself. But I can devise a connection: in the context of trouble and winter and despair, we look for physical anchors in other human beings. We want someone to really see us, to hold us and love us, because the pain and grief we experience in this world is very real. The comfort and love of eternity is just as real, but we don’t do ourselves any favors when we deny how the trials of this world cause suffering.

And it's funny how in a crowded room, one other person can be the only one that matters.

And it’s one more day up in the canyons/ and it’s one more night in Hollywood/ if you think you might come to California/ I think you should…

There are so many songs about California, perpetuating the Golden State’s mystique. So many people have such a romantic idea of California. How do I know this? Because most people, when they find out I’m from San Diego, say something to the effect of “really?!” Perhaps I’ve just gotten really East Coast, or I’m too normal, or perhaps it’s just the fact that I’m not blonde.

I do miss the canyons.

I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower/ makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her…

So much in this life goes unsaid. It’s not always a bad thing. But so many people aren’t willing to put themselves on the line, be vulnerable. While some of us were blessed (inflicted?) with an opposite personality, the world seems largely dominated by those afraid to say what they really, truly think and feel. Why?

And it’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe/ maybe this year will be better than the last/ I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell my myself/ to hold on to these moments as they pass…

Is it okay to hold on to the good memories – to cherish the past? Is it okay that I like my new office well enough, but admit it doesn’t feel like home and I don’t think it ever will? Can I still grieve?

It’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean/ I guess I should…

Maybe I should go to the Outer Banks this summer. I’d like to see the Atlantic again… and the salty air would be good for me. I was raised on it, after all.

And it’s been a long December…