And it’s about as un-Christmas like as I’ve had since moving to the Slavic world. Which isn’t to say that it’s a bad one, quite the opposite.
This old Tori Amos lyric keeps playing in my head: “And if you could see me now…” I’m not sure to whom it’s addressed to, though.
I keep thinking, “Well, anyone can see me, really. I am a very open person. Too open for my own good. But I’m too open – and too old – to regret that last bit.”
So much of growing up involves learning to go on. Not being dragged through life by fate or chance or one’s only halfway articulated longings, but going on. Accepting the paradox of being in charge of your own existence and not being in charge of anything at all. Getting up in the mornings without too much complaining. Calmly stirring your tea in a cafe, knowing full well that in the next minute, a person who will once again change your life, for better or for worse, may walk in – and not waiting for that person. Not waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not waiting for anything at all – except for the tea to get down to drinkable temperature, that is.
It’s likely that you have no idea as to what I’m talking about. Then maybe you are not a neurotic writer type – the one who sees a potential plot development in every snowflake that falls on the hero’s collar. Maybe you’ve always known what it’s like to let go. In that case, I envy and admire you.
You can see the paradox of free will and no will playing out in the expression of Bronzino’s Madonna here:
I’m not going to comment on it, because it’s something you either see or don’t see.
I am learning to see.