Year's end

Here we are at the end of the year and sloshing into the next. There are good things here. Particularly when I consider what my life looked like last year at this time. I was living with my brother and his family. I was spending time with his boys. I spent Christmas with Corinne and her girls and then flew back via Washington DC because I needed to get my masters' diploma out of storage because I had the tantalizing promise of a job where I could escape and make a new shift in my life and I needed all documentation. I remember feeling hopeful and tired. Ready to move on to living again. I remember feeling grateful for the extra time with my family, and tremendous sadness that I did not have family of my own. I was injecting myself with hormones three times each day so I could retrieve eggs and freeze them: some hope that I would be able to have children. I used to want children so badly that it physically hurt me to see an infant or toddler. Now, I've come to accept that life is not what we wish it to be. I still want children, but it is the echo of a desire that had to die so I could survive.

I have friends. I have people who love me. Significantly I have Willem to put his arms around me, to love me when I do not love myself, and this eases the pain.

Been a strange few days. Tomorrow morning, I head back to work.

Yesterday I took a yoga class where I danced to loud Indian music and then laid on my mat and "set my intention" for the year. What to think? What to do? Where do I put my intention? I'd like to create a life that makes a difference, that feels right and meaningful. But there is a disconnect between where I am now and where I feel I ought to be. It's difficult to reconcile the two. My future and some unbreakable hope is tethered to some moment in my past when my feeling about the future was so clear and beautiful: where I was doing my work in Africa and had the promise of a life with Sjors. I cannot, for all my logic and reasoning, allow this dream to die because it was the only thing that has ever felt absolutely right to me. I've never loved anyone so much, never wanted anything so much. Of course Sjors must die for me, but not now. Not yet. I'm not ready.

I've decided to set my intention in the present. Be present every day - not constantly looking behind me, hungering for something I will never have - not practicing mental gymnastics to escape the mind-crushing, relentless misery of my daily work. Here. Now. This is what I have. This is my life and I only get one.

Yesterday I visited a market two miles south of where I live. It was very large - spanning several city blocks. The patrons were primarily immigrant: women with headscarves and heavy coats and men with beards. The market was a crowded bonanza: fish, meat. vegetables, fruit, nuts, olives, spices, cheese, roots, leather and vinyl purses. cheaply-made underpants, sweatshirts, bras, socks, scarves, shoes, pajamas, hats, scarves, tableclothes, jewelry, makeup, counterfeit perfumes, tea kettles, electronics, pans, kitchen knives, suitcases, toys, fresh-baked bread, grilled corn-on-the-cob, and garbage. In every other market I've visited, the heat was sweltering. Here, my toes and fingers froze. I bought a hemp-sack to carry the vegetables, fish, and bread-loaf I'd purchased. The fish-monger was Moroccan, and cleaned my Dorade for me while I waited and watched, then wrapped it in paper. We talked about how Casablanca reminded me of Utah where I grew up - minus the Mosques. I still have the robe I bought in Morocco, and a pair of pointed orange slippers which I can never really wear anywhere.

Last night, I visited Willem at his house, bicycling across the railroad tracks, past the megastores, and fire station. The air was thick with gunpowder-smoke and, all around, fireworks shot low into the sky, celebrating the season. Willem's been sick for some time, and I didn't like the thought of him being alone for new years'. Frankly I didn't like the thought of being alone myself on new years. I love Willem and take comfort from his presence even when he's grumpy with illness. His place is cold but I reminded myself that it's a little like camping and wore a stocking cap and woolen socks to bed.

We sat serenely on the couch together. Or, at least, Willem sat serenely on the couch. Nothing about my internal life is serene, although I try to hide it. I suppose this is what I hope for 2017: that I may find peace. Live right now. Find peace right now. Happy new year.