The miss list
It seems I've had so many previous lives since college. I have no regrets (I don't believe in them) and I wouldn't change a thing (to drop two cliches), but when I am feeling particularly nostalgic for a home that has nothing to do with a physical space, I start to hone in on that which I really loved about those previous lives. It is my dream to say "I have truly lived" on my deathbed.
Today I miss
The spring evenings spent with my sister in San Diego last year
Looking over Clara's crib and seeing her smile at me
A comfortable chair
(a few of my former students, way back in the day)
Despite the angst, I admit that somewhere deep inside, it does feel good to miss. If we didn't fully realize what we don't have, or didn't miss that which we once had, or didn't want something back that was snatched from our grasp, what would compel us to reach out and gobble up the love offered to us? Without need, how can we know completion? Without feeling empty, how could we know fulfillment? Without desire, how can we know ecstasy?
My soul has been on edge of late, and after taking several days to put it through the standard rigmarole of why this could be, I've decided that I have gone much too long without writing, reading, photographing, or really any other creative endeavorer (hell, even cooking). My soul cannot survive a creatively stale life, and so I must tisk-tisk my finger at lazy practicality and determine to make my life once again about something more substantial than a plan to start making something. It's time to do it.