Anticipation

It comes in so many forms: a long-awaited lunch with a friend, a response from a potential employer, an email from a particular someone, a book from a publisher... I'm sure you could add to this list.
You might call it: anxiety, the hee-bee-gee-bees, excitement, or torture. Again, I'm sure you have your own name for such feelings.
I wish I could tell you I know what to do with such energy. So far my my actions have included: huff & puff (think Big Bad Wolf), vacuum, make lasagna, drink too much coffee and wine (although not at the same time), and when the neighbors off it - scotch. Oh yes, don't forget to plan events, exercise more than usual to dance music played louder than usual, plant seeds for vegetable garden, and check for emails and snail mail obsessively. And do laundry because once you finally have somewhere to go, you want as many costume options as possible.
So we're all waiting for something, right? Please. Tell me I'm not the only one. It's impossible to be the only one of anything, yes? Somewhere else on the planet, perhaps in the same country, maybe even in the same state, (oh, who am I kidding?) most likely on the same block, someone else is waiting for important things to happen. Maybe even a few of the things I listed. So my only advice to to myself, and maybe to you: Remember you're not the only one waiting, hoping, anticipating.

Forward and

forward. Because that's all there is.

This week had a few more than its fair share of challenges: I learned my book would be late, my son (and then I) got strep throat, and I learned a good friend died of stomach cancer. I hadn't been in touch with him for some time and had no idea he was ill. He was a delightful person I had hoped to see again. Yesterday I went to his funeral and saw him for the last time. And it was awful and awkward and ultimately kind of hopeful. I had never met his family, so there was that uncomfortable who-is-that-person thing going on. They had been with him through his illness, and while still quite distraught at his loss, they weren't in the sort of shock I was. I couldn't quite shake it off enough to explain how I'd known him, how great I thought he was, how I mad I am that I'll never get to enjoy his company again, how sad I am that he chose to suffer through his illness without letting his friends at least try to comfort him.

So I sat, followed, cried, looked at people who looked like him while they did and did not look and wonder at me, and it wasn't until everything was almost over that I was able to speak with his daughters, mother and step-father. I never did exactly explain how I'd known him, but that wasn't actually important. What was important was that we, eventually, were able to reach through the awkwardness to share our appreciation of him. Although I doubt I'll ever see them again, I'm pretty sure I'll feel that don't-know-anyone-awkwardness again. And I bet you probably will too.

But the thing to remember is that you, and I, can reach beyond that to the things that connect us, things that mean more than exactly how you met someone or how long it's been since you last spoke. So as uncomfortable as it was to sit and stare and be stared at, I guess I'm glad it happened that way. It meant that I appreciated the connection more when it did happen. It might even make me a little braver the next time I feel that don't-know-anyone-awkwardness.

So look forward. And directly at each other. Because, even if we feel like strangers, we can find ways to connect. Even if we're strangers, we're all we have.