My father once told me to believe in the tides and the seasons, and yesterday when my mother asked why I no longer write on the blog as often as I did, all I could think of were the tides and the seasons.
Beginning almost 4 years ago, The Half Note has been a friend by my side--a witness to my wake up calls. It's been like a funnel through which my lies and denial, and ultimately truth and longing, poured down a narrow stem, filling the space that I now recognize as me.
I remember my honeymoon twenty years ago--a Caribbean dream, the island of Anguilla. With my husband, I walked on smooth coral sand and swam in the kind of sea where mermaids must live. Across winding roads under island skies, I drove a jeep with no doors, with eight black-skinned schoolchildren on board, weighed down by bags and books, asking with joyful smiles to please drop them home. Anguilla was the place to celebrate life, to be in love, and feel one's freedom--so it was no wonder that my inexplicable sadness the entire stay came as a surprise. But no surprise.
People spend their whole lives climbing ladders--toward success, in battle, or in search of something else. I don't have to tell anyone what my theme has been, because I've never kept it a secret or made apologies. I've been accused of having an adolescent view of romance, an unrealistic expectation of men, and a fairytale vision of life. But I actually think I have a realer vision than many. It's not the criticism or accusations that have helped me evolve--it's my commitment to having another look around, to not accepting that I'm done or finished, left to spend the rest of my life buried by the weight of my limiting beliefs. I've made decisions both consciously and unconsciously to do this thing a second time, a third time, as many times as it takes so I can get it righter than I got it before.
Now I see with new eyes, young eyes, girl eyes. I'm 46 and I'm 16, and it really doesn't matter if I'm worshiped or walked away from, romanced or rejected--because even the things that hurt most are a small price to pay in comparison to what I have now--the things that can't be taken.
Maybe without warning, like the way it used to be, The Half Note will have 6 posts all in one day, and maybe I'll return to Anguilla. Maybe I'll walk on the soft coral sand, swim in the sea with mermaids, and give rides home to those beautiful children. And in the jeep with no doors, whether I'm with a sweetheart or I'm driving alone, I will celebrate life, and be in love, and feel my freedom, because I no longer have a choice.
It's sunny out with rain tomorrow. This is it, the changing tide, the new season--this is who I recognize as me.