I have been quiet, in part because I’ve not much to say but largely because my laptop up and died last week (which is what happens when red wine is spilled on electronics. Be ye not so stupid).
I read a quote a few weeks ago that resonates with me on a near daily basis, and which I offer up to you here:
Psychotherapy happens in that wilderness between you and me. – Siri Hustvedt
I read it in a book review, which was enough to tell me how much I was going to agree with it. I read it in a book review about books on psychoanalysis, so it would perhaps make even greater an impact on both my agreement and my level of dorkiness.
I read that and wonder what reflection it has on my life. How wild is the wilderness, how much does it hold, where does it start to lead to even ground…even a quote gets introspective.
I am not sure what I’m meant to be doing these days. Apart from the breathing and the twins and the work and the laundry and watching the rain fall and fall and fall, there is a gap between what I am and the memory of what I was. I wake up thinking there’s something I am meant to be doing, and as soon as I get to the last step of the stairs in the morning the thought is dwarved by the rhythms of life. My list of things I have to be doing is getting longer and longer. When I want to sit down and write I am taken with Things I Ought To Be Doing. When I do want to write it’s about the idiosyncracies. It’s about Nora’s tooth. It’s about Nick’s behavior. Things that will serve as a bookmark in time for me, but has little to do in terms of breaching the wilderness, it has little juxtaposition of you to me. They are just two little people in a world full of little people for you, whereas here in my world they are the sound and the fury.
I have wrinkles and I can’t recall how they got there.
Sometimes I look back at older entries (note to self: must unlock past entries. Add to the Things I Ought To Be Doing list) and I feel that what was there, what was written, has shades of beautiful in it.
It’s nice to feel like that.
I reckon we all need to feel like that, sometimes.
I don’t know who you are. You, maybe, know more about me. And maybe in that knowing there isn’t so much wilderness still.
UPDATED – I cannot, will not, become a Grey’s person.