Ever since 9/11 I cry so much more frequently than I did before. It’s not usually sad tears. I find myself tearing up at the lovely things that life shows us, like the love between a father and son, or a particularly beautiful sunset. I try to make a point of talking to my friends more frequently now, and my pace of life has slowed down.
I don’t think about sex nearly as much as I did before. I’ve been reading a story lately about a Russian Orthodox priest who was sent to a Siberian death camp during the Stalin era, and his apotheosis. He lived selflessly, helping others, sharing his meager rations with the sick, and I wish I could be so generous in spirit.
Mostly, though, I feel like I’m wasting my life sitting every day in this cube, churning out clause after clause of computer code. Why haven’t I opened my cabaret yet? Why aren’t I bringing more beauty into the world?
Sometimes I want to chuck my entire life and pursue something entirely different. But I can hardly leave Rick, whom I love deeply, and the life we are building together. I daydream about becoming a starving student, studying theatre production and hospitality. I can’t ask him to dump our beautiful home and follow me into poverty for a few years, can I? Maybe I don’t have to.
What do you think?
Comments on this entry are closed.