Un-Canadian

I don’t write super personal-type blogs. For one thing, I have students who might chance upon something I’ve written and that could be awkward. Second of all it’s not very Canadian to tell the world your problems. You might think I’d have a “third of all” about my son reading my blog, but honestly, he couldn’t be less interested. Hey Maclen, guess what? You’re adopted. See? No response. Don’t believe me? Check the blog comments. There will be none from him, trust me. Besides, I don’t need a “third of all” since the second of all is so compelling.

And yet. And yet. Tonight I felt this urge to reach out across the cyber field with my flashlight, blinking a Morse code message to whoever happens to be cruising by. “Come play with me” I felt like typing. “My son is out with his Dad and I’m lonely and facing for the first time in over 20 years, the prospect being alone indefinitely. Which I guess means the first time ever since no one worries about that in their early 20s, do they?

How many songs have expressed those sentiments and did they ever allay the pain and loneliness of the song’s writer? I doubt it.

Tonight I danced all night, all by myself in my livingroom/bedroom/kitchen – candles and twinkle lights blazing, incense burning. I danced to Trilok Girtu, Aretha Franklin, Blackalicious, Dizzy Gillespie, Prince ( of course!) and many others. Tonight, I cried and listened to sad songs and I smiled loudly and listened to Dave Liebman improvising with a Big Band who did an inspired call and response to his zigzagging, keening lines. And yes, you can smile loudly. Tonight I prepared myself good food and luxuriated over a cup of tea.

Earlier in the day I took a yoga class with a teacher I love and then came back to the Carla Crash Pad and pasted beloved poems on pieces of foam core and cardstock and put them up on the walls of the little pad so I can always see them. Then I memorized one of them –my awesome brother Jason introduced me to this one by Hafiz:

WOW

Where does the real poetry
Come from?

In the amorous sighs
In this moist dark when making love
With form or
Spirit?

Where does poetry live?

In the eye that says, “ Wow Wee!”
In the overpoweringly felt splendor
Every sane mind knows
When it realizes - our life dance
Is only for a few magic
Seconds,

From the heart saying,
Shouting,

“I am so damn
Alive”

Indeedeedoodaa.

So this is what a midlife crisis feels like, huh? It’s not so bad, really. I mean it has its perks.

I am going to be okay. I am going to be more than okay. I am great. By the way, all this is Canadian for unburdening my soul. Sohrry - that’s the best I can do.