I had one of those moments recently, you know, the ones that seemingly transport you back in time to a specific moment. The moment where you can remember the exact amount of lighting coming in the window, the bike ride where you were stopped by a homeless man, the moment on the couch when you created answers to your security questions for a loan account.
Six months can change a lot of things.
a suprising amount of things, life is funny that way.
And, though I could remember everything else about the moment, I couldn’t remember the answer. I had even created a hint for myself – just four letters- her name. The answer: an important date.
Six months ago I thought this was a question I would remember the answer to forever. Instead, I was left guessing at dates that part of me wishes still held some significance.
Six months ago I would sit on a couch and stare at a coffee table that I had built with my own two hands.
As I write this, my feet are crossed and precariously perched on an old table in a temporary home. The table sways whenever I shift, and the hundreds of names that have been scrawled one over top of the other across the surface seem to come alive.
I didn’t think it would be possible to love both situations so fully.
I realize now that I have always lived in temporary homes, making memories with temporary loves and temporary jobs, living a life that is only as permanent as my body will allow. When I was growing up, this thought terrified me. My dream was to create a life of permanence a solid, cemented existence that was built around people who would stay as soon as I possibly could.
In a month’s time my French girl will move back across the country.
I am certain that this time I won’t be the one following.
And maybe it will work this way – cross country translations over phone lines. I love this girl – as much as I think it is possible for me to love now, and so I’m going to do my best with the circumstances presented to me to make this continue.
But, if this is to be another temporary love, I won’t be angry. (I mean, some of you should be prepared for a call full of tears and loneliness, but I’ll get over it.)