The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

I had a sad few hours yesterday. (Yes, this is a recurring theme with me.)

My parents went home and left me here in Riverside. I couldn’t even give them a proper goodbye ’cause I had to pee so bad. But never mind that. Here’s what’s particularly painful to me these days: you can’t hold on to beautiful moments. The moments of our visit are gone forever. All we’re left with are memories. That sounds pretty dramatic, even cheesy, but I’m pretty sure this is a hard reality of life. Life is moving forward toward our endings. It’s a wonder we’re all so obsessed with our careers and making a mark when it’s all washed away in an instant. The bits that are really important are holding your father’s hand, eating cereal with your mother – both of us in our robes (we are so the same!), watching your baby float around on a monitor.

Maybe being pregnant has made me unusually sentimental. I think my body and mind are crying out for a spiritual retreat. Maybe 10 days of meditation, an intro to Vipassana.

While I cried for a couple of hours, everything sad compounding into one big ball of super-sadness, Simon was comforting me and crying a little himself – just because I was crying. Then he said a little prayer for me. A new beautiful moment emerged. Ah, life. When we have the eyes to see.

Today life is much brighter and I am out of my head. We are making Spelt French Toast and Simon is doing what he calls fun: scrubbing a borrowed espresso machine with a toothbrush. I am cleaning our wee apartment in short satisfactory bursts. We are blasting Sarah Harmer, her first album.

Amen