The Blessings (a Saturday ramble)

Early on in my series of rambles over the last couple of months, I rambled about "The Blessings."

I think about how broken I was in Budapest and Prague and how my brokenness became part of the experience--it's what makes me look back on that trip as an adventure as much as a vacation, as an achievement in moving forward and persevering. I think I've quoted Dar Williams many times in reference to that trip (among other things)--in particularly, "The Easy Way," because I did keep the wine and laughter, and every path did grow up and ever after, and peaks and canyons and many great companions. I recently discovered another Dar song that's equally evocative of the same sentiment: "The Blessings": "the best ones were the ones I got to keep as I grew strong."

I'd focused then on how distant the pain looks once you're on the other side of it, how silly your then-overwhelming, intense feelings seem. But the converse is also noteworthy: "It's the things that you notice more," Dar adds. You feel the pain more intensely, but you also appreciate the little miracles that much more. I'm a pretty naturally grateful person on a good day, but I'm even more so in a rut. I was grateful--as much for the gesture as for the food itself--when my coworkers shared their garden veggies with me over the summer. I felt the same gratitude, even more intensely, when a friend shared garden veggies in January. It's not that you don't know--that the information isn't out there at any given time--that there are people in your life--who love you, who are thinking of you, who are there for you--but it's also comforting to have concrete moments to remind you.


Years ago, within a week of a bad breakup, my car broke down in DC and I had an emotional meltdown (because I was emotional). Months before, my car had broken down on the beltway and I chilled in the breakdown lane until help arrived. The latter incident had me think about how, had this happened a week before the breakup, I would have felt equally stuck and alone. One is prone to dramatize, to go down the path of "I don't even have anyone to come get me when I break down." But that wasn't exactly true, and it wasn't even truer with the change in relationship status.

Months ago, early into the non-breakup-induced rut that inspired my series of rambles, I got stuck on the Metro. This is hardly unusual, but it was a Friday night and I was burnt out and emotional. As the train was evacuated and taken out of service, I thought, 'goddamit, what would it be like to have someone who would pick me up on a day that I've had it.' I wasn't too far from home and could've taken a cab, though I probably wouldn't have; it's just not something I do. And it wasn't a big deal--another train came by shortly. But it was the idea, the symbolic value of there being someone who cares enough to get you when you're stuck. And you feel the absence of that so much more when you're in that emotional space.

But you also feel the presence that much more, too. And so I did, yesterday when some friends and colleagues came by my office for an intervention in the form of cab money for after my oral surgery. It wasn't about the money, which I really tried not to take, but holy shit, the gesture. They'd wanted to give me a ride home, but nobody could, and this was their way of making sure I'd get home okay. What an amazing bookend to symbolize my emergence from my rut, to welcome me to the other side.

***
It was that kind of week--I lost a tooth one night, brought (a lot of) compost to happy hour the night before, and walked across town in a Santa hat the night before that. It's probably not a bad thing that I have to take it easy for a few days, but I can't wait to get back on real food. In the meantime, here I am, binge-watching "Mad Men" and dreaming of solid food as I make do with avocado and banana.