Sometimes somebody tells you something so sad it takes away your voice. Maybe for a minute you stop breathing. You want to answer. You know it's important to answer. But the words have all gone underground. Maybe if you're face to face you offer a hug, some small gesture, to bear witness.
Someone told me today that she enjoys my blog. One of the reasons she gave is that it's short. I always feel like it's way too long. I delete more than I post, partly out of that fear of talking too much. (I just deleted the rest of this paragraph. I'll probably never post this blog at all).
The full moon rose today over Provincetown harbor before sunset. High tide isn't till almost midnight and I'm staying in the place I love best, possibly in the whole world, where at a really high tide I'm over water, not land. Has anyone ever explained how it is that some places feel as much like family, like home, as certain people do? (Yeah, actually, there are writers who do this all the time). How we can be as unmoored by being too far from the beloved home for too long, as we can, being wrenched from the people we love? I have lived in such a state of motion that I never really understood rootedness until I longed for home so hard I had to go back. It became imperative, and the more I went the less it was enough to just visit. There's more to say about this but I don't know if I'll get there (to saying it) anytime soon. Except to say, I don't know what it is for you, but for me, home is not where I was raised. Home is the place I was loved. It was to that land that my soul attached, and it's a bodily knowing, a thrumming bone-deep, when that particular landscape rolls into view.
I'm still dumbstruck by the story a friend intimated, just earlier this evening. Do you ever wonder how people survive the things they survive?
On the plane earlier today I got through one and a half of the manuscript submissions I brought to read. The first is a keeper and I need to send that poet the good news. The second I just could not face. Instead I opened Ann Patchett's Run.