| January 3, 2021 |
The other day, your dad was telling me about a podcast called Heavyweights, where the host helps guests resolve drama from their past through intense confrontations of these people/incidents. Think middle school bullies, high school exes, that sort of thing.
December brought along a burst of creative energy. I have a vision for revising my manuscript. I’ve been art journaling, and have discovered YouTube at the ripe age of 33, with a penchant for kawaii stationery pen pal exchange videos.
I’ve read a few more books, and am slowly making my way through Infinite Country and Hao. I bought a gigantic t-shirt to drown in since I’ve just about given up on looking human again. I rearranged the furniture. I let the you and your dad bring a bean bag into the house. This past weekend, we snuck away to Salem and visited not one, but two monster museums.
In all of these journeys—mostly manic, if I’m being honest—I’ve been thinking of those heavyweights. I have them. We all do.
In thinking about these, I realized I’m actually pretty good at resolution. Most people enter and exit my life through their own volition. I’ve never had a mean streak, for the most part. I’m a pretty good apologizer.
I guess if I had to choose, my heavyweight would be that I’ve lived out a version of reality in which I haven’t pushed myself to be open. I can physically feel the walls going up, in the intonations in my voice, in a slight shift in my movements. I spin a good yarn, but rarely do I live a life of radical honesty. I think most of us live like this—our interior voices are different than the selves we show the world.
Sometimes I’m not my best. But for now, there’s my drawings and my aerogarden and the pandemic that never ends. We eat sunny eggs for breakfast and bacon almost every day. It’s not what I wished for us, but in this little bubble of experience I relish the time that I’ve gotten to spend with you unexpectedly.
Some things you’ve said lately:
“Mama. How was…work?”
“Um. Okay. I talked on the phone and I read some papers.”
“Well. School is my work.”
“What did you do at work?”
“Mama, they’ve got me cutting paper again.”
“Ethan, come take your bath.”
“Sorry mom. I’m not abay-label.”
all the love in the world,