To My 40’s

When I was a 18, I journaled about my future, bothered that, barring some fateful intervention, I was doomed. I would go to college, eventually meet a man, get married, have kids, be a teacher and...blah, blah, blah. That’s it? No African safaris? No show on Broadway? Would I never meet Alan Alda casually at a cocktail party?

Alan would listen intently...

Thirty years later and I was right: college graduate, professor, mother, wife. Only, it’s not the trap I imagined. I find nothing dull about my life and getting here was anything but linear. I had to leave a lot behind.

I left alternative music. Actually, I moved it to the side and placed, front and center, absurd and ubiquitous pop music. Taylor Swift, Katy Perry, Beyonce, Bruno Mars, Justin Timberlake. Bring. It. On. I don’t care if they are formulaic, without nuance, mindless, shallow, repetitive, and uncreative. They are fun and I love to dance. I still love New Order and Kate Bush, but I am making up for lost time.

I wanted to leave vanity, but that was harder and still, I have not shed it completely. But I spend considerably less energy on it. In my 30’s, I would wear shoes every day that would hurt, blister my heels, squeeze my toes. But I liked how they looked. As if the pain was worth it. I enjoy a good shoe, but the pain is never worth it. I have work to do and cannot be bothered.

I left vegetarianism, but not for a love of meat. A woman invited me to a dinner party. She made a beef stew. She was serving up bowls and I said, “Oh, no thank you.” And she looked at me, titled her head. “I’m a vegetarian,” I explained. I could see she almost dropped the bowl. She felt terrible, had not even considered. From now on, I thought, take what it is offered. This is a gift.

I had to leave plans and the desire to plan. I thought I would have a PhD and three or four kids. I thought I could just do that. I thought I would live in New York or Austin or Boston or at least a known city. In June 2004, I had never heard of Akron. In August 2004, I was living here.

I had to leave love. Not real love, but the fantasy of love, the myth it exists between you and the beloved like air between you, that you breathe in and out together. I thought of it as a noun. Something to have or be in. It’s a verb. And I either chose to do it or not.

I left poetry. No, poetry left me. Maybe it was mutual. When Rainer died, poems were either so empty and small, they left me angry or they were so full and big, they left me overwhelmed. I can read one Rilke poem a year. It’s all I can bear. Neruda’s cherry trees. Even thinking the line carves me hollow. And writing poems was the same: I could say nothing, which left me angry. Or I could say everything. Which I could not.

"I want to do to you what spring does to cherry trees."--Neruda

At 18, I knew what my life would look like. I did not know what it would feel like. I had no idea the work within an ordinary life.