the Never Befores
Never before have I had so many “never befores”. I feel completely lost in my own world more than I ever have, and those who know me know that I have before. It is a beautiful and chaotic thing. I am certainly retouching parts of my own childhood emotions, though in a completely different way. As if having created such memories as a child gave me the window to see through as a parent. As the chill of winter fades I am taken again by the boundlessness of possibility and imagination, the infinite well of creativity awaiting us. Now, looking back, I have become hauntingly aware of the fact that I am currently experiencing the moments that are to become my fondest memories.
Unlike in a dream, where you are likely to wake should you become aware you are dreaming, memories are a different thing. Should you take notice and become aware that you are living a future memory, the reality of your situation becomes bigger, and more full. I have been trying to find the words to describe something that is quite indescribable. To enjoy the moment is much more important than to capture it.
Our present is our future’s past. We must not live in fear or dread of the future, or our past will be full of fear and dread. Nor can we too greatly anticipate our future, or our past will dissipate as quickly as it comes. Observe all you can, while you can. Take in more than you put out. The lessons I’ve spent my life accumulating for myself are the ones I am now trying to get down in tangible form, so I may return to them as we continue to grow as a family. Trust yourself and give generously. Be confident in what you know and be confident in learning what you don’t. Read. And write. A lot.
James Roland is past the one year mark, and I'll resist the urge to call him 13 ½ months, though every day makes such a difference. Here are some of the things I have to write down:
In addition to infallibly finding and exclaiming any and all “bah”s lying around, (in books, most circles are balls, crumpled up paper, decorative orbs) this morning he scooted over to me with a book open to a page: DUCK, with a picture of a duck. He's saying “Duh!" over and over. I yelled to Dayna in the other room, I couldn't believe it. And I said this in a previous post, but it’s grown to an undeniable effect, dogs and doors are also, “Duh.”
He learned at an early age that if he’s going to try and get off the bed, his arms won’t quite hold up his whole body. He effectively adapted, developing a new strategy of crawling backwards until his body slides off the end and his feet touch the floor. Sometimes he’ll hang there waving his feet around trying to find support, which is too cute. He'll do this backwards crawl (mooncrawl) when he’s on the floor, whether just for fun or if he thinks he’ll be able to open a portal to a sublevel of the place, I’m not quite sure.
As I observe him on the floor, on the bed, in the bath, in his high-chair, screaming with pleasure or impatience, it is clear that these emotions I feel, which morph and evolve as he does, and were invisible and inaccessible before (the never befores), are also never to be had quite like this ever again. Sad, from one side, but true, and so to look at it in this light, the light of truth, is to touch what makes us human. The painful reality that the present moment is all we have any control over also gives us freedom. Freedom to create the person that will become. It takes practice to learn and remember to appreciate each moment! In the heat of the fire, the friction, the resistance, with each mess and every much needed deep breath, every moment is precious, and I am so grateful to be alive, and to remember this is all that I need.
March the fourth, twenty-twenty