Day in, day out...

In the words of David Foster Wallace, adulthood can really suck.

Okay, he said it more eloquently, accounting for complexities and such.  I.e.:

There happen to be whole, large parts of adult American life that nobody talks about in commencement speeches. One such part involves boredom, routine and petty frustration. ...

Today, going along with the vein of the wretchedness of routine, I'm led to sulk over how my dear friend Kacey is getting married on a beautiful, sunny Carribean island - and thanks to a collusion of adulthood things (work obligations, limited vacation time, logistics) I can't be there.

And it megasucks.

However, to find the silver lining, I'm trying to reflect on how, in the thick of the day in, day out - the timecards, grocery trips, light rail back and forth and forth and back  --> we cross through some mystic, veiled periphery - from adolescence to adulthood.

All of a sudden, in the midst of calls with insurance companies (that our parents no longer make for us), paying rent and student loans, mowing lawns and taking out the trash -- we begin to strive for more.

We try to make ourselves better
              - through lifelong commitments to one another
                     -bringing new life into the world
                           -coming together when unfair loss arises
                              -carrying one another through sickness and suffering
banding together to honor our brokenness and our triumphs.

In spite of my nobler yearnings, I'll keep it real.  My despondence lingers.  I'm bummed I can't be with Kacey and Joe today.

But! I am immensely grateful for the privilege of calling them friends, even when it's from far away.

And I guess... I'm grateful for the doldrums - for being stuck at my desk even on days like today - if it means that I can hone maturity, develop a sense of responsibility, enter new phases, discover greater challenges and resulting fulfillment, establish deeper commitments and explore new horizons.

So, this is for the doldrums:

And since I'm on a Neruda kick, this is for my cherished friends, Kacey and Joe.

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. 

Pablo Neruda