New Wings Forward

Dear J-

I had something else in mind today, something about collecting and the implications of clutter. At the moment we are probably as mobile as we’ll ever be, given that we have just the one job to worry about, commute-wise, and kids who have no geographic stake in a school nearby. I wonder if we are tied more to the house itself and the lousy seller’s market or if that’s just a convenient excuse for me to hang onto in order to justify the continued nondisposal of random junk I have lying around the house.

I like where we are right now as it’s convenient to shops, library, and restaurants, but they say that the elementary school is most responsible for future academic habits for your kids which makes choosing a kindergarten seem daunting. Then again the life of a parent is filled with these seemingly pivotal decisions from when you first learn you’re expecting (eating habits, exercise, and nursery) to delivery (natural or c-section, doula or hospital) and beyond (breastfeeding, circumcision, cloth or disposable). Let’s keep some perspective on this: modern humans have been around for say ten thousand years and most of these choices for only a hundred. Living in the wrong school district may be a bummer but it’s not forever: we can move or send figgy to a magnet.

I’m headed back to the other side for training today and hnoestly not really looking forward to it: I was just here, after all. When we were entertaining the idea of picking up everything to move to Illinois I did some brief research on real estate and school districts, had walking routes planned out and was even looking forward to introducing everyone to life in a small town. Yet in some ways it feels like that move would be a step back, dealing with the missed opportunities and lack of perspective being comfortable gets you. At the moment, having coasted in this week and knowing that I’d be going to training today the past couple of days at the new job have been absurdly comfortable but I’m going to need to start pushing myself further out soon. Fledglings leave the nest tenatively at first but with increased confidence that their wings will hold. Time to stretch.

Mike

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Wings Outstretched

Dear J-

We found ourselves amongst crowds today — strange, I thought, that we would spend the morning hiking and yet not alone, though I suppose that the appeal of Torrey Pines State Reserve on a sunny holiday is too much for anyone to resist. When we got there, we had to drive past crowds of pedestrians hiking thier way up from the lower parking lot. It’s enough to make you feel like the laziest slob in the world seeing folks grinding up the long winding hill — old folks, children, people starting off their resolutions (I’d be interested to see the crowds on 1 Feb in comparison, but my cynicism knows no bounds).

I keep trying to remember how to get her to walk on her own, but every fifty feet, it seemed, she was running around in front of one of us with arms up hoping to be picked up. I’d look with some envy at the other kids running around the Preserve, dashing away down the trails as free as the wind. At that point I realized how much I’d miss the ache in my arms that comes from carrying her everywhere. The new year marks time in a distinct, abrupt border, and the further along we go, the farther we are from her relying on us for everything. It’s double-edged, time’s pendulum cuts both ways.

Last night our neighbors set off fireworks at the stroke of midnight; we had already retired for the night and the flare lit up the window for an instant, lighting the room in stark monochromatic relief. I could not have asked for a clearer sign even though every moment is lost in the next: there is no difference between this second and the second before midnight, New Year’s Eve. What do we need to know about how the year will turn out? I used to read all the horoscopes and psychic predictions religiously (not only because it was the only reading materials in the store at times) in order to spoil the surprise, but I’m finding now the joy in the journey.

Mike