If I had forever

Wistful! That was the word I was looking for. The poem* makes me wistful, though not weepy.

I realized yesterday that I haven’t cried—like, really cried—in a very long time. Quite possibly a year or more. I realized it during a spontaneous downward dog, when the inversion sent some spit up into my nasal cavity, generating that sensation of impossible stuffiness brought on by incessant tears.

With nothing to sob over in that moment, I bookmarked the thought, I suppose, for future contemplation.

And would you look at this! Here I am with a blank page and five minutes to go. No wonder I was cornered by Mary Oliver this morning. Clearly there are some feels to explore.

If I had forever I’d probably cry a few more times—maybe even make a practice of it, since, all things being equally infinite, it’d be as good and healing an activity as any.

If I had forever I’d lay out all the feelings that are in me now, end to end. I’d walk along the miles of them, visiting each of them in turn, stopping for a conversation, a full-sized interaction. The twitching dance with Anxiety. Joy and I rolling down grassy hills. Curling into a tiny ball with Grief, limbs tangled, lying there for as long as we both need—years, even (because again, we’ve got forever).

Fear and I would sit in staring contests, but I imagine that would quickly get boring and I’d move on, knowing I’d encounter it again—get many more chances to stare it down—further along the road.

I long for forever now, to continue this piece. I'm just getting started, having such fun. As it is, the timer has gone, and I’m pulled back into the beautiful, finite reality of being a person, having only this day to fill with my tears, or my boredom, or my gratitude, or my love.

*The third stanza of Mary Oliver’s “The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac,” read before writing this piece