Three years ago, A and I went for a biting run across key bridge to find book hill. We never did find that ever-elusive sanctuary. But we did find an ever-unfolding adventure.
It was the beginning of a life shared, a life promised. A leaped when he asked me to marry him and I leaped when I said yes and here we are, falling, falling, falling and learning bit by bit, mile by mile, what it means to fly.
Ours was not a usual engagement. We did not live together. We did not sleep together. We didn’t do those things husbands and wives do. What normal patterns of wedding planning and life preparations we danced were saturated, mainly due to my decidedly dramatic expressions of desires to have a wedding attended by less than twenty people and an impossibly loving but unapologetically rambunctious pup.
Needless to say that vision was not realized, though I whined for it up to the day we wed and, yes, months afterward too. Regarding life preparations, the joy of these too was suspended due to idyllic, impractical expectations. I thought we’d move to Austin, begin life anew. When it was apparent that “we” would only be “me,” I gave up on the move and the dream. And so our life took a more predictable turn, one I had been to stubborn to entertain.
Though happy in our life together, I was deeply dissatisfied in my life and in myself. And so I launched. And then, the miracle: a child. Our child.
I believe if we had succeeded in conceiving before I left Carderock, I would have stayed. With this pregnancy my longing to feel that deep satisfaction in what I do fades before an aching need to protect and provide for my son. I threw the certainty that I can do so out the window with the stable job, back when a baby was an idea, a concept, a one day hopefully soon but who knows when.
This instinctual urge to protect consumes me; it seems my very identity. Suddenly the frenzy with which I demanded a small wedding which turned into a frenzy to get out of Carderock which turned into a frenzy to find a paying job has morphed into a frenzy to run away as fast as I can from ultrasounds and fetal monitors and picotin and epidurals and c sections and vaccines and vitamin k and baby snatching and that whole cascade of interventions unnecessary for healthy low-risk pregnancies. It seems so very important, but sometimes I feel so very tired, so very defeated, arguing my point with A, with society, with myself.
And then I remember that day I said yes. Though the frigid wind buffeted us toward the icy waters and cut through every layer, a feeling of calm certainty washed over me. I need to find those yeses in my life. I need to say those yeses. And then maybe, just maybe, I will embrace the wind and fly high upon the currents.
This narrative is so familiar. I’ve rehashed it time and time again. For some reason I believe if I can only get the words right, things will start to make sense. Then I step back and see that nothing really does, and nothing really will. This post sure as he’ll doesn’t with its twists and turns a lack of a point.
Life isn’t a physics problem. Well, yes it is, but only God understands it.