What I don't talk about is the tiny pinprick of fear I get when the phone rings and buzzes and pings to suggest clearly something is wrong. I don't talk about how relief sweeps through me when I realize those messages are not about my kid and yet my heart drops to the floor anyway because why? Why did there have to be some sweet girl so broken she saw no other way but through death? And I don't talk about how I've thought hard about how this could be my kid and how it will always be a fear that it could be my kid. The world I live in has taught me I must know it can always be me and mine and those I love dearly.
I don't talk about the deep sorrow, the one that seems to always be lurking and ready to pop up at any minute because it is November and the world has been dark and gray since last November. I don't talk about how the women are rising, hard and fast, though it doesn't feel fast enough. I am a woman and we are we are going to save this shit show. We are, but I don't talk about how long it's taking and how the world is losing so much at a rate that feels too impossible to count anymore and so I have stopped trying to keep track. I don't talk about how this feels today in this hour. In the next hour, I might be able to scavenge for a win somewhere. I don't talk about how I get through this hour to the next, casting about for hope like a wayward fisherman listing in the cold dense fog. A patient and bedrock knowing that something is there, and so he drops a line and waits. I have always been terrible at waiting, but I do have a bedrock faith. I don't talk about this because what is faith in a time like this?
I don't talk about how holding my cat on my lap is literally the only thing that provides warmth in these dark days. That and holding Big Man's hand. I don't talk about how hearing my friend's voice tremor in pain doesn't rock me the way it used to because the truth is, I am used to hearing people being rocked with pain. I don't talk about how pain is on every corner, on every street and inside every home. People carry pain of all kinds every day and still, I don't talk about it....not in a way that matters anyway. This is because, still today, there is a time and place for everything and there is no time and place for all this pain though I want to shout loudly and often, "Look! Here it is and there it is and what about this? Can't we all just agree to this suffering?"
I don't talk about the woman I know who unfailingly looks every single person she meets in the eye- head on. She stops whatever she is doing, gives the person in front of her the most solid five seconds and I am reminded that THIS is where it's at. This is the start of digging out of what I don't talk about. I look to see what is around me. The grey sky and the woman coaxing her toddler into her car seat and the guy pulling his neighbor's garbage can back to it's rightful spot simply because. I don't talk about how I know every kind gesture counts, but there are days that feel like they will never seem to add up to enough. I don't talk about it because who wants to live in a world without hope? Not me and so I don't talk about wanting to bat every positive chirpy platitude and suggestion of prayer and gratitude to the ground as if my life depends on it. The truth is sometimes I do not know what MY life depends on but I do know my life is linked to yours...and I don't talk about that.
I don't talk about how all of this sometimes makes me treat those I love most dearly most ungraciously. What is up with that? How can I be so dumb? There is probably some pop psychology there, and I don't want to talk about that either. Or maybe it's my hormones? I might like to talk about that, but you don't and so I don't talk about that either.
I don't want to talk about the bustling efficient people in the world who get things done.They are armed in clothes that match their winter wear, they have dinner organized, and their exercise is done by 7:00 am.They have had kale for breakfast and likely they have meditated, too. I don't talk about how I want to be those people, but I am not and maybe this is the real source of all I don't want to talk about. I don't want to talk about how I try and fail and keep trying again because in the end, there will be loss and maybe, just maybe, one tiny gain and that's it. I feel done with tiny gains, but if I am done with tiny gains then what? See? I don't want to talk about that.
I don't want to talk about how I want to love hard but when I do, it can hurt as much as it can heal and help and so I just don't talk about it.
I don't talk about the men in jail and how their stories are somehow tied to that girl who left us and she is tied to the friend in deep pain and this somehow relates to my losses and tiny gains. I don't talk about how my time is spent putting it all together like a puzzle with pieces that don't quite fit, but it doesn't stop me from trying anyway.
I don't talk about the deep sorrow, the one that seems to always be lurking and ready to pop up at any minute because it is November and the world has been dark and gray since last November. I don't talk about how the women are rising, hard and fast, though it doesn't feel fast enough. I am a woman and we are we are going to save this shit show. We are, but I don't talk about how long it's taking and how the world is losing so much at a rate that feels too impossible to count anymore and so I have stopped trying to keep track. I don't talk about how this feels today in this hour. In the next hour, I might be able to scavenge for a win somewhere. I don't talk about how I get through this hour to the next, casting about for hope like a wayward fisherman listing in the cold dense fog. A patient and bedrock knowing that something is there, and so he drops a line and waits. I have always been terrible at waiting, but I do have a bedrock faith. I don't talk about this because what is faith in a time like this?
I don't talk about how holding my cat on my lap is literally the only thing that provides warmth in these dark days. That and holding Big Man's hand. I don't talk about how hearing my friend's voice tremor in pain doesn't rock me the way it used to because the truth is, I am used to hearing people being rocked with pain. I don't talk about how pain is on every corner, on every street and inside every home. People carry pain of all kinds every day and still, I don't talk about it....not in a way that matters anyway. This is because, still today, there is a time and place for everything and there is no time and place for all this pain though I want to shout loudly and often, "Look! Here it is and there it is and what about this? Can't we all just agree to this suffering?"
I don't talk about the woman I know who unfailingly looks every single person she meets in the eye- head on. She stops whatever she is doing, gives the person in front of her the most solid five seconds and I am reminded that THIS is where it's at. This is the start of digging out of what I don't talk about. I look to see what is around me. The grey sky and the woman coaxing her toddler into her car seat and the guy pulling his neighbor's garbage can back to it's rightful spot simply because. I don't talk about how I know every kind gesture counts, but there are days that feel like they will never seem to add up to enough. I don't talk about it because who wants to live in a world without hope? Not me and so I don't talk about wanting to bat every positive chirpy platitude and suggestion of prayer and gratitude to the ground as if my life depends on it. The truth is sometimes I do not know what MY life depends on but I do know my life is linked to yours...and I don't talk about that.
I don't talk about how all of this sometimes makes me treat those I love most dearly most ungraciously. What is up with that? How can I be so dumb? There is probably some pop psychology there, and I don't want to talk about that either. Or maybe it's my hormones? I might like to talk about that, but you don't and so I don't talk about that either.
I don't want to talk about the bustling efficient people in the world who get things done.They are armed in clothes that match their winter wear, they have dinner organized, and their exercise is done by 7:00 am.They have had kale for breakfast and likely they have meditated, too. I don't talk about how I want to be those people, but I am not and maybe this is the real source of all I don't want to talk about. I don't want to talk about how I try and fail and keep trying again because in the end, there will be loss and maybe, just maybe, one tiny gain and that's it. I feel done with tiny gains, but if I am done with tiny gains then what? See? I don't want to talk about that.
I don't want to talk about how I want to love hard but when I do, it can hurt as much as it can heal and help and so I just don't talk about it.
I don't talk about the men in jail and how their stories are somehow tied to that girl who left us and she is tied to the friend in deep pain and this somehow relates to my losses and tiny gains. I don't talk about how my time is spent putting it all together like a puzzle with pieces that don't quite fit, but it doesn't stop me from trying anyway.
That your life is linked to ours, the readers. I feel I rode in your head a bit, looking around at the no trespassing signs, and seeing you waving me in. I needed to read about "what you don't talk about" so I could give myself permission to think about what I don't think about. So good, your writing
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