Yearning

I feel like I've been walking around in a haze of to-do's.

With the mindset that I'll breathe or relax or settle in once this, that or the other thing is done.  A kid to this birthday party.  A carpool ride to that swim meet or football game.  Groceries in the cart.  Bills paid on the computer.  Thank you note in the mail.  Clothes folded and put away.

And post my last race, I've been doing what I traditionally do which is to hang up my running shoes instead of lacing them up and letting myself enjoy this gorgeous fall weather.

But yesterday afternoon, somewhere between cutting the carrots and celery for the chicken noodle soup pot and mixing up the cornbread batter, I finished, "Lit," a memoir by Mary Karr, my new girl crush.

And embedded in the final pages of brilliance, was this line that won't seem to let me go.

"Maybe all any of us wants is to feel singled out for some long, sweet, quenching draft of love, some open-throated guzzling of it."

Holy Fuck.

I think this is why falling in love is so catatonically powerful.  It's the endorphin, adrenaline, all consuming rush that physically transforms how we look at the world.  And it's not just romantic love. 

One of my dearest friends just had a beautiful baby over the weekend and holding her in my arms brought back a flood of emotion remembering the first feeling of embracing my three children.  The smell, the warmth, the dream come true.

In a strange way, it can happen with possessions.  For a singular moment or passage of time, a new home, car, sweater, pair of shoes, collection of vinyl or even food can send us reeling in awe and thrill over this shiny, comforting piece of us.

The hardest part is that it's fleeting.  The nuance fades.  The novelty wears away.  And the yearning returns.  And what is it exactly that we're yearning for...

I think Mary Karr would say that we're yearning to be singled out; to be desired; to feel alive; to be made new; to no longer go through the motions. 

And as we get older and recognize that our opportunities for newness changes, we have to cultivate them at every turn...otherwise, we find ourselves roaming from point A to point B lost in a stupor.  Today, in the parking lot at preschool, I discovered that one of the mothers has a sister who lives in Paris.  She told me that if I could get away with my pen and paper, I'd have a place to stay.

Hmmm....maybe this is the sort of "sweet, quenching draft of love," that I'm in need of.