Grace Cathedral Hill

So all of you (well, maybe not all of you...) know that I spent about the last two weeks in both Miami (where I once lived; read: visiting with old friends, family, mom; trotting around old stomping grounds, etc.) and Mexico (where I've never been, but attended a wedding there of my oldest friend, read: family member). Upon my return, I'm struck by two things: 1) How did I possibly return from a fabulous tropical whirlwind vacation and have anything bad to say about it? Which leads to 2) Why does everyone else in the world seem so capable of happily being away from thier loved ones and don't cry so heavily at thier weddings?

Now, I'm not saying that I have this all figured out, but with all of my travels and distance and airplanes etc. the only common denominator is always how much I miss everyone. As I was explaining to R. C. U. Huntsman just days before my departure from Seattle, I'm beginning to think I'll never be happy anywhere; I may never have a true home, may never truly settle. So now I'm like, "What the fuck! Why can't I do this?" Most of you know I'm not too fond of the idea that there are things I cannot do.

So I'm home in Miami, and even while I'm with them I already miss them, and I'm at my best friends wedding and I can't even compose myself enough to have a good time without the aid of mucho whiskey; and not to use a term that I have not been entirely fond of in the past couple of years, but I can never seem to bring myself to be present. Departure always looms on the horizon for me like a fog and although I can always see it as an opportunity, I'm always overwhelmed by what I'll be losing. It kills me to leave all the time, and I don't know why it's so singularly hard for me and the worst part is, I keep doing it.

So I'm leaving Seattle and my two best girlfriends are teary eyed and scared, but I see them perfectly stable and confident and for the first time I realize: they don't need me with them.
So I'm in Mexico, and I see my three oldest boys walking down the beach in thier finery, mature and succesful and for the first time I realize: they don't need me with them.

So that decision that I was patiently waiting until after the wedding was made at Eddy's reception, and I decided to go. Somewhere, anywhere, leave all of them to thier own lives. My initial instincts to stay in SF seemed then rediculous and selfish--I made a complete one-eighty.

And then this afternoon, Janine (my beautiful Volvo) and I were once again getting lost in the streets of Frannie, bogging along in second gear up a steep grade listening to one of my favorite bands, and there, at the top of the hill, was the place that gave the song I was listening to it's name and I assume inspiration. Like the first time I found the corner of Market and Van Ness, I hadn't even known it existed until I found it.

And the world may be long for you,
but [s]he'll never belong to you.
But on a motorbike,
when all the city lights blind your eyes,
are you feeling better now?

So maybe I'll pay my own 25 cents to light a little white candle, and maybe I'll stay and maybe I'll go--but I know for sure that of everything I've ever wanted to belong to me, I'd never really considered that that thing would be myself. I've stretched myself far too thin in the past couple years, and this decision will be one that I make. When I take myself off the path of living for everyone else and desperately trying to save and bind all of them, a whole new path reveals itself to me--and this one starts atop Grace Cathedral Hill.

p.s.--I know I've said it so many, many times before (sorry Sam...) but I am again reminded:
"...we get in my car and the Tenderloin is gauzy and bright, and all the way home all the green lights are timed."
Special thanks for this post goes to Dave Eggers and the Decemberists. Thanks, guys.

1 comment:

charles.bukowski.costanza said...

beautiful, mm. really quite nice.

..thx for your comment. i responded to it. as derek zoolander would say, "i'd love to continue talking about this conversation."