Sept 23, 2021
R.Z,
When I walked into my room today I noticed my keyboard. It felt silent and I realized it hadn’t sung in weeks…
There was only room for one plug in the outlet and it was already occupied by my leaf lamp.
It was also night and I was getting ready for bed, but I couldn’t resist. I unplugged the light (granted I turned on a smaller one in the corner), and plugged in the keyboard.
I cleared some papers, shuffled around to place my chair, and finally settled in, playing the first few notes of the Totoro song.
Suddenly everything became still. Me, my room, the drenched highway across the street from my window, for a second made no sound.
At this point I’d had a long day, a full week, and my hands were shaking slightly. My eyes were bouncing back and forth between the notes to see if I remembered what came next. And luckily I did
Because one moment I was sitting there, fully present in my surroundings. The next? I was gone. Into the memory of our dimly lit Monteverde Library.
I could see the wooden walls, the large glass windows, the green leaves right outside. I could hear the full silence, feel the full emptiness, I could smell the dampness. And that’s when I missed you more completely than I have in a while.
The way you would listen to me playing the same songs. The way we would sit under the dark sky after curfew. Your contagious laugh. And magic! The magic in you, the magic in me, the magic in our talks, our books, our dreams.
If I didn’t pay attention, I could’ve written all of it off to the circumstances of the trip, where people bond and leave. But after being home awhile, I asked myself: “When was the last time I felt this colorful, unselfconscious, wild & free sort of happiness?” And I thought of you. I thought of the word ‘goofy’ and how even with my best friend of four years, I never goof around. But it’s fun! So much more fun than I ever knew!
I know now because of you <3
Jan 22, 2022
Dear R.Z,
One day we notice that it’s happened, that we’ve gotten back on the hamster wheel and that we have, in fact, been running for a while. There’s just so much to do and, though we may notice what’s happened, we have no chance of getting off right then and there. We must play out the scene, guard our spark, until it’s the end of the last act.
Then, we can take a break. We can take a deep breath and regroup, we can re-evaluate who we are and what play we want to audition for next. And we can finally, in this in-between moment, remember that every scene is a hamster wheel we get to play in. It’s fun… for as long as we know it’s a game. For as long as we know all plays are part of one larger one. One, that doesn’t have an ending to run toward, nor a beginning to run from.
Right now you are running a part, and, you know you are, because you’ve stepped off the track before. It’s only the lucky ones who get to do that once in a while and I think we are some of those lucky ones. Now, you may find yourself in a place where cars sound instead of crickets and bright lights shine instead of stars. But you’ll hear the crickets again, you’ll see the stars. And when you do, you’ll stop in time for a bit, like we once did.
Always with love,
Janet
