Blues

Good morning. Happy Sunny Friday from frigid New England. Just 10 degrees on the car thermostat this morning, but it was bright enough by the time I drove to work that I had to wear my sunglasses which is a good start to any day in the winter doldrums.

I had a great breakfast, a small piece of leftover steak and a fried egg. I totally luxuriated in the utterly preposterous Middle Class American lifestyle that I am so lucky to (try not to) take for granted: Five hundred square feet of well heated living space all to myself, ample food that is all fresh, unspoiled, of my choice and to my taste, a tiny machine that tells me when it thinks there’s too much smoke in the place and I should go (it always reacts when I griddle tortillas in the morning). As if that and my almost unfailing indoor plumbing and on demand electric lighting were not enough, I engaged my eyeballs watching a movie on my computer while I dined. I got in my too big, still feels new, gas-powered (though less than guzzling, because it’s a hybrid) car, and drove, alone, to a job in a safe place, with nice people, that pays me well.

And as I sat down to finish up the morning work a preparation for classes, I suddenly felt lonely. This isn’t one of those stabbing pain in my heart, brief choking sob, loneliest I’ve ever felt in my life moments. It was just plan old regular run of the mill lonely. Lonely like… Lonely like… Well, lonely like I’ve made choices that have made me different from most people I know. Lonely like people would look at my life and probably call it lonely. I don’t want to curl up in a ball and cry. I don’t want to disavow all the decisions I  made that led me to this point. I just want to acknowledge that this morning, I could probably do with some company: the senseless chatter of a close friend that you love even though he or she talks to much, the solid silent comfort of a treasured companion working quietly nearby, the simple deep faith that someone you trust and care for is probably thinking of you this moment and hoping that you are smiling.

I was disappointed to feel this strike the day after I was finally feeling on top of my seasonal affective disorder. But I can see after writing it down that it’s not a relapse (or it may be). And it’s not the end of the world. It’s just one more blue note, without which the songs we sing and the world we see would not be so rich or affecting. So I’m going to breathe it in. And accept it. And release it. And when it is time embrace it when it comes again. A little blue butterfly, reminding me to listen to my very human heart.

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