Touch the distance...and when necessary...change the location

“No one is the savior (she) would like to be.” Iron and Wine

A Dedication
For you who came to me not in the ordinary way
as you begin to embark upon
the extraordinary journey of your life

Dear C,

Years ago, when you were 11 and I was attempting to find comfort everywhere as I dealt with the miscarriage of my first pregnancy, I came across a book of Native American riddle-poems in the children’s section of the library. (I confess that going to the library has always been my preferred alternative to seeing a shrink or a psychic. Although I have seen enough of the former to consider the latter the next time I am really desperate and the library is closed.) The title of this book is Touching the Distance by Brian Swann, and because, more often than not, I tend to travel with journal in hand, I was able to record these words, which served as a bit of light in a temporarily dark corner:

“There is that person
whose child
will come out of her middle.
There is that person
whose child
will come out of her head.”

Why should I begin with this riddle, this particular remembrance of loss, and particularly in a letter of celebration and congratulation? Perhaps it is because I have learned that a little bit of light exposes things, brings new life to undeveloped things, things that might just be seeking a way to come into focus. You’re a filmmaker and a photographer, so I think you will know what I mean. Ultimately, I have found these discoveries of exposure to be pure gold, however rife with imperfections they may be. Remember what I told you Almodovar wrote about his own early experiences behind the camera: “…when a film has only one or two flaws it’s merely imperfect; when they are…numerous…they constitute a style.” In fact, I would say that life should be lived in just such a way. In other words, live through your flaws and find your style. It is the best way to guarantee that you’re moving forward.

Touch the distance….

Once upon a time, I was your age, and I started down a path that is my life. A woman’s life, a life, that however many obstacles I have surmounted or achievements I have attained, that however many dreams I still plan to give life to, is and always will be different from the life of any other person. So obvious, right? In fact, I should remember to take my favorite color and make a mark on the calendar on all of those days I have been able to say that I do not wish to be other than who I am (and where I am, for that matter). Because the truth is my life, the path of it, has mostly surprised me. And I think that’s a good thing. All those years ago when I thought about touching what I could see in the distance, I did not yet understand what the Persian philosopher and poet Rumi long before observed, the gradualness and deliberation that vista would teach me. Remember The Tortoise and The Hare.

Gradual. Deliberate.

Touch the distance….

When Margaret Mead wrote her treatise on the generation gap in 1970, she did not write so much about changing the future as she did about changing its location. In this way, Mead reasoned, the Authority over 30 and the young would have some common ground, a place to reckon with and recognize one another, a place of shared commitment. This, of course, would be child's play for an experienced time traveler like Kurt Vonnegut who seems to have understood the deliberateness of Aesop's tortoise when he wrote, "Be patient. Your future will come to you soon enough and lie down at your feet like a dog who knows and loves you no matter what you are."

Here it is, then. The future, right at your feet, as comforting and familiar as a warm loving dog. And easy to embrace.

I realize now how often I insisted upon stepping over my future while striving toward it. Maybe I thought I could avoid some of the bumps in the road. Not a chance. And although it feels at times that I have found more bumps and detours, I am beginning to understand that this is what makes up a life. The false-starts, the missteps, the things we lose, and all we struggle to leave behind. It dawned on me the other day while finding similar sentiments expressed in a novel I recently finished that this is how we learn to surrender to life. We let go of all we thought we were. And still we will find the horizon stretching out to greet us--like that warm panting dog--no matter what we are.

Let me finish by going back to the riddle-poem with which I began this message to you. As a woman, your "babies" will take many forms. And these gifts of creation will not always come when and where you might expect. Neither will your work, your art, your dreams. When you are surprised to find all that you imagined falling in to place, remember, there is still the task of reconciliation once all of your choices have come home to you.

Eh bien... assez.

As Goethe says, "Be cautious and daring." Go. Touch the distance. Remember to send out reports now and then.

Much love, love, and love