Here I Am

I keep getting lost.

I keep forgetting who I am.

Sometimes I expect too much proof of love,

and I cry because I don’t see the evidence blaring in my face.

Some nights I look and I see myself the way I am afraid they will see me.



I was 18 and I was going to write the greatest American novel.
I was going to carry a dirty back pack full of hippy clothes across Europe.
I was going to see the world, go to law school, then save it.
I was going to stay very thin.
I was going to find my soul mate.

Since meeting the Anne to my Sylvia, I have known I had competition for greatest American novel; now I hear I would have to battle for even the greatest by an American.
I have not started writing.
Europe sent me home after 2 weeks. I have not been back. And besides, I look chunky in hemp skirts.
My B.A. took me an embarrassing number of years to earn.
We wrestle as much as sway.

On my twenty-sixth birthday I promised myself I would savor the next ten as the best ten of my life.
I am adding another ten years to that right now to make up for my slack.
Maybe I will write a decent poem someday at least.
I put her in the world, at least I did something good.
I have learned the value of a kindred spirit and have been blessed with more of them than I deserve.


Found at the bottom of an email I got today:

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass.
It's about learning to dance in the rain.

Yeah.
I used to know that.
Sometimes you just gotta remind me.





little note for charlie:

I was thinking about the day we met. We talked all night about who we were. It made me remember bits of me I had let slip away. I told you that then.
The next night, I did yoga in the dark on the lawn and remembered how much I love the night air on my skin. And how beautiful it used to make me feel to dance when I was strong, flexible and sure I had a whole world to conquer.
Don't forget who you are 'sport'.
Oh and when you are ready,(you owe me) let's dance!