lost at home

Posted April 9th, 2005 by Michelle

I hardly know what it is I want to explore in tonight’s post. Is it the new car I might be buying tomorrow? Is it the death of a friend? Is it my relationship with my own body? Is it the evolution of my garden? Perhaps aching loneliness, wistful feelings about family, wishing I had had any semblance of normalcy as a child, my wishes for the future, the fact that I’ve sobbed about four times in the last week after not having anything to cry about for months? Really, I could wax on about any of this. And when a movie like “13 Going on 30” makes me bawl and hold my face in my hands, I realize I might be a little delicate right now.

Almost two years ago… scratch that, it was almost three years ago, I got an email from Tessa. At the time, Tessa and Ian were just, y’know, *dating*, and little Peanut was still wandering around on the 4th Mormon heaven wondering when she’d get a chance to come back to earth. This is what the email said:

“You know, it’s funny, the other day I described to Ian this image I keep
having: He and I drive to see you, very somewhere else, like deep woods
Maine or the mesas of Western Colorado, and you come out of your cool,
simple, beautiful house and you are radiant. Living another life. And
deeply satisfied.”

I think of this email all the time. It was written on August 8th, 2002. So long ago, and in such a different time, that I had to search my “friends” email folder rather than my “family” folder to find it.

I suppose that I have to remind myself that it’s the journey to that simple, beautiful house, as well as the simple existence of it, that should propel me to not despair. But until I follow that path, to deep woods Maine or Colorado or Spain or Africa or maybe right where I am, I will be neither radiant nor deeply satisfied. But the path is obfuscated by great wine and renown and the honeysuckle climbing over my garden wall.