“This is Not the House That Pain Built”
It’s tough and it’s tiring when you go it alone
I learned about wiring, I learned about stone
The building is done but the work’s never through
And I won’t give up, no how, it reminds me of who I am and where I am now
I remember myself, that’s the work that I do – Dar Williams, This is Not the House That Pain Built
My 38th birthday was a few weeks ago. In the grand scheme of my birthdays, it wasn’t too shabby (my bar is set at “did anybody die?”). I drank a bit more than I should have, but instead of leading myself into overt self-destruction, I just got super rambly and talked really fast (so, the usual). I seem to recall eating homemade ice cream out of the carton and a rant about presidential candidates and the electibility of a female leader.
New Year’s, anniversaries, beginnings and endings, birthdays — these are the times we are apt to look around and take stock of our lives. 37 was this mix of pain and passion and adapting as I left my marriage and readjusted expectations and relationships. I was excruciatingly depressed and then got mostly undepressed. I barely wanted to be alive, I barely remember how bad that felt.
I sometimes find it helpful to condense periods of time into one identifying word. I am trying to pin down a word for 37.
Adaptation, maybe.
A year ago this past Sunday, my friends helped me move my belongings from one life into another as I tried to sort through the mental and physical clutter to decide what to take with me. In both cases, I brought some things I didn’t need and left some things I shouldn’t.
I did not take the easy way.
“But I never took heavy words for granted,
And I never took the undeserved advantage,
No I never took the easy way,
So why don’t you take it a little easy on me now.
…
We don’t want to be the ones to lie and cheat and slander,
So we hold each other up to the higher standard,
But I’ll tell you what; I’ll never try to make it hard.
Cause when you’re hard just to be hard,
The only thing that’s hard is you.
…
So here’s what I took, I kept the wine and laughter,
Until every path just grew up and ever after,
Through the peaks and twisty canyons,
I made many great companions,
Best of all is the one who loves me like you do.
…
I never took heavy words for granted,
And it’s much too late to even want the shortcut,
Yeah, I never took the easy way,
So you can take it a little easy on me now.
Cause we know that easy’s never easy anyhow. – Dar Williams, The Easy Way
The word is most assuredly not “easy.”
Maybe it’s because I just finished watching different versions of The Doctor talk to himself in The Day of the Doctor, but I listen to this song now and imagine myself as both sides; the one who makes it hard and the one who should make it easier. Definitely still working on the love thyself part — for now, I’m just striving for self-acceptance.
Acceptance. Perhaps that’s the word.
Reading my birthday post from last year, I can see that while this stage of my life is not what I envisioned or hoped for, I’ve learned valuable lessons: I have become more acquainted with myself in the last year than in the full sum of my life that came before.
No. Not learned — learning. I am still actively in the process of learning:
- The only way through is through.
- I will, probably, be ok
- To balance my stubborn determination with asking for help
- That life is not a destination
- The multi-faceted nature of grief
- How to steer myself in the direction of what I value
- That being published in The New York Times might mean I’m a writer
- That not perfect is not the same as nothing
- Kicking and screaming against reality does not change reality; likewise, an unfulfilling reality does not necessarily mean my expectations are a personal character flaw that renders me undeserving
- Sometimes, the problem is not a reflection of my shortcomings; sometimes, the problem is just the problem
- The limits of authenticity and how to write around them in a way that still feels true to myself
Whatever the word may be, it is an action verb or a present participle — it is not something I got to leave behind when I turned 38.
That first post-separation house never felt quite like home. It was new and shiny and had so many cabinets.
I am not new or shiny and I have like one cabinet and it’s full of skeletons, cobwebs, ghosts, and cowboys.
Still, it WAS home for that first year.
It was the place where I got my feet back under me. It was the first place I lived alone as an adult. It was the year that started off the worst and ended up above neutral. I hadn’t seen above neutral in years.
The kids and I had a picnic on the floor before saying goodbye. I turned in the keys.
Moving the second time in a year is more difficult than the first, especially when everything must go. The boxes labeled “misc” are still threatening to take over the house and my brain. This time, as with the last, there were moments where I was sure I could not do it. It’s so much. I looked around that old house after the movers were done and texted my friend Kim, “I may cry now.”
She, in the infinite wisdom shared by all of my friends, texted me back, “I think you’re allowed to.”
There was so much stuff left. The house still needed cleaning. It was hotter than Christian hell outside and I thought, as I have so many times, “I can’t do this.” But, as I have so many times, I did it. I owe pretty much everyone I know my services should they decide to move houses, but it’s done.
Now it’s on to this new adventure, which feels so much more… me. It’s a little wonky, the paint doesn’t always match, it may be actually dangerous in a couple of spots… but goddamnit it’s got personality. And a portable dishwasher, but that doesn’t fit the analogy.
I think the word for 38 is going to be “settling.”
Not as in settling for less, but rather, learning to be comfortable in the here and now.
Or maybe…
Onward
This morning a coworker saw me walking to work. I was a block past our building when she drove by – not walking to get coffee or any of the other sensible things she may have assumed – I literally got lost in thought and walked too far.
When I ran into her later, she was still cracking up.
“I wish I could say it was the first time I’ve done that,” I admitted.
“Well, you bring joy to others” she said through her laughter.
Sometimes, I get ahead of myself. Sometimes, I get lost. But ultimately, I am always walking
Home.
The long way around.
Clara sometimes asks me if I dream. Of course I dream, I tell her. “Everybody dreams”. “But what do you dream about?,” she’ll ask. “The same thing everybody dreams about,” I tell her. “I dream about where I’m going.” She always laughs at that. “But you’re not going anywhere, you’re just wandering about.” That’s not true. Not anymore. I have a new destination. My journey is the same as yours, the same as anyone’s. It’s taken me so many years, so many lifetimes, but at last I know where I’m going. Where I’ve always been going. Home. The long way around. – The Doctor
Side note: I have made a Spotify playlist of all the songs I quote in my blog.
