Every so often, we all need a little saving.  Sometimes we can save ourselves, but I've found a remarkable beauty in the self-saving that is inevitably and surreptitiously hidden in the caring for those we love.   Mrs. Clark came with her superman tight-suit tucked under layers of color and patterns, and saved me from a weekend of ominous introspection and way too much trash television.  In a way, I suppose she came to care for me, but thereby cared for herself.  She remembered she is irreplaceable, connected, and sophisticated.    She remembered she is wise, open, healthy, and always at the ready with leg-wear. She made me hummus, made me laugh, made me sit still with magazines; then she made me go to a drag show.

We are both in gestation...on the brink of new women, and we needed to speak to friends connected to all versions of ourselves (past and future included) in order to incorporate them soulfully.  It's hard, confusing, subjective work.  She is strong for the job. So am I, but in part because I have her shoulders to rely on.  And yours.

I have loved solitude.  I will always love solitude.  But you know, it's just another thing that's changing about me.  Hell, I might even start reading Harry Potter and thinking Gaga can write music. My craving for company and the realization of the unmistakable goodness of those enfolding me and in my fold is humbling my independent nature something fierce.  In fact, the only ONLY way I found a road back to peace last week was through other humans.   I was saved by the solidarity and assurance of your human existences, different in circumstance, same in process.

I've been saying it too often lately, but this week has felt like seven generations of myself have passed through this tired brain and body.  It has made tonight's goodness even good-er.  I enter my house in solitary reflection as I used to enter St. Mark's cathedral - in awe of the sacred, anticipating a message from the cosmos, eager for the communion of wine.  I turn on Debussy, I pre-heat the oven.  Each movement feels important; turning on a bedroom light becomes a whispered prayer as in vigilant lighting of a candle for your soul.  The unintentional intentionality of cooking, pouring, cheersing friends in solo whispers.  I am happy to feel happy to be alive.

I am buoyed by you this week, your gentle eyes reading without judgement, your helpful email, your quiet ache for me, your determination to write me a letter, your driving to visit me, your making me laugh, your helping me see, your meeting me for a glass of wine, your commitment to refrain from flattery and love me true. 

It is pure.

You know, I think it's normal to always want to feel in love with your spouse.  I want to go back to when we first knew each other was more than a friend, that we had somehow become each other's "person."  I want to feel his arm touch my waist and get chills.  Don't get me wrong, I still can feel all of those things, but what do we do when we simply don't FEEL those things as readily?  Is it as simple as needing to nurture the relationship more, more therapy, more dates, more lingerie?  I can assure you dears, Joel and I are doing, have always done, will continue to do any and everything to keep us connected, but there are phases impossibly harder than others.  When we don't FEEL the nuances of a novice relationship anymore, how then do we then begin to foster a different, more mature feeling?   We get restless, we get bored, we get curious about anything other than our current life.  These are scary, scary feelings at any age of marriage, but after almost 9 years, feel silly.  There is NO guarantee that we'll last a lifetime just because we set out to.  Is Joel scared, no (it's really, REALLY hard to scare that guy).  Am I?  Yes.  I am scared that we won't always be each other's answer, that our marriage will fall prey to the daunting divorce statistics, or worse, become a comfortable, unintentional relationship where we are only excellent roommates.  Joel and I have only ever known a marriage of peace - and something is shifting.  I am petrified that the earth will crack beneath us and we'll be left standing on opposite sides of the the earth's tectonic plates.  

But we don't always get to feel what we want to feel.  Sometimes we feel distant and isolated from our spouses  despite our very best efforts.  This has to be okay.  A lifetime with someone is not about only ever feeling love (the emotion of love, I should specifiy).  Phases are to be expected, and I'll be honest - I'll be damn happy as hell when this one passes.  

And when Joel comes home.