Fifteen Years Ago Tomorrow...
Fifteen years ago I was almost out of my undergrad studies, looking forward to going somewhere new and far, far away. I didn't know how I'd get there, but I had the confidence and naievete to plan to do it anyway. I was ready to graduate, ready to be in the world, and very ready to share it with someone.
So I did some things, and found a great little red band at a museum gift shop. It felt special. Then, Voila! In my film class, I met Chris - long, wispy hair, tacky tinted 70s glasses, tall, great bike legs, open, funny, smart, feminist, zine publisher, gun shooting and conspiracy theory enthusiast. Member of a good friend's band, always I thought of him as geeky and too much into partying but kinda cute and interesting enough to start a conversation.
We went for pizza and, among other things, talked about how much we hated macho man talk, robert bly, traditional gender roles, etc. By the end of the evening, he was decidedly sexier than I initially realized.
A month later, we bravely kissed in my living room under the yellow glow of the fish lights. This is a sweet memory.
Fifteen years later, we have incredible life experience and sweet, sweet love. Two daughters, trust, faith, support, commuication, compassion. Like the light through a crystal, murky, opaque, diffused and refracted.
[Or something like that. I don't remember all the important science right now, so if my metaphor is off, well, just bear with me]
Through the years I have not only come to accept my ability to be wrong, but also to not be upset about that. I have learned a little about letting go of the need to control and plan and predict. I have felt the urge to create passionate life, with principled action, based on nothing but the thinnest, least perceptible, most important thing ever: unconditional love and acceptance for who I am.
I never doubted Chris, ever.
I never doubted, Chris. Ever.
So I did some things, and found a great little red band at a museum gift shop. It felt special. Then, Voila! In my film class, I met Chris - long, wispy hair, tacky tinted 70s glasses, tall, great bike legs, open, funny, smart, feminist, zine publisher, gun shooting and conspiracy theory enthusiast. Member of a good friend's band, always I thought of him as geeky and too much into partying but kinda cute and interesting enough to start a conversation.
We went for pizza and, among other things, talked about how much we hated macho man talk, robert bly, traditional gender roles, etc. By the end of the evening, he was decidedly sexier than I initially realized.
A month later, we bravely kissed in my living room under the yellow glow of the fish lights. This is a sweet memory.
Fifteen years later, we have incredible life experience and sweet, sweet love. Two daughters, trust, faith, support, commuication, compassion. Like the light through a crystal, murky, opaque, diffused and refracted.
[Or something like that. I don't remember all the important science right now, so if my metaphor is off, well, just bear with me]
Through the years I have not only come to accept my ability to be wrong, but also to not be upset about that. I have learned a little about letting go of the need to control and plan and predict. I have felt the urge to create passionate life, with principled action, based on nothing but the thinnest, least perceptible, most important thing ever: unconditional love and acceptance for who I am.
I never doubted Chris, ever.
I never doubted, Chris. Ever.
posted by Skim @ 9:33 PM
1 Comments:
At 8:11 PM,
Anonymous said…
It is interesting (and slightly weird) when two pieces of ones life come together independently. It is curious to see bits of oneself intermeshing from the outside. To have a special, private perspective and yet know so little beyond that—though one learns more through time. I hope you’ll pardon my selfish take, but it’s the only one I have.
I hope I have let you both know how much you and your happiness mean to me.
Wishing you another fifteen and more of living, laughing, learning, loving.
I remember the fire. I remember the friends. I remember the words. Life can be very good.
Jim
Post a Comment
<< Home