I’ve started writing (and abandoned, and re-started) this post multiple times over the course of today. Not because I don’t know what to say about my weekend, but because I want to get it right. Precisely right, in a way that lets me convey to anyone outside of my own head (that’s you, reading this) how I feel about the last three days of my life.
What I keep coming back to is the last song from All Hail West Texas, by the Mountain Goats. It talks about growing and changing and making progress, even in a context that other people aren’t able to adequately grasp. About how sometimes, even (and especially) if nobody else can see it, you’re moving in a direction that gives you joy and comfort and even satisfaction. I’ve been thinking about that an awful lot.
After one long season of waiting
After one long season of wanting
I am breaking open
My insides are pink and raw
And it hurts me when I move my jaw
But I am taking tiny steps forward
And I feel sure that my wounds will heal
And I will bloom here in my room
With a little water and a little bit of sunlight
And a little bit of tender mercy, tender mercy-The Mountain Goats, Absolute Lithops Effect
I could be a jerk and stop the post there, but if it were ONLY for me, I could just keep the words inside my head in the first place. I feel a certain obligation to bring these feelings out into the world, so here goes.
You know how everyone says a vacation is about “getting away from it all”? And how you want to not think about your messy life, so when you take a trip somewhere, you’re escaping all that mess, even for a few days? Well, my trip to Ann Arbor didn’t feel like moving away from something, it felt like moving toward something. It felt like a homecoming to me. Not the high school dance, but the joyous return to a place where you’re meant to be.
Someone told me a couple of days ago that sometimes, when you’re making the right life choices, if you’re lucky, it feels like everything snaps into focus all at once and everything just feels right. I stumbled across that sense of rightness in Ann Arbor this weekend, and I’m still feeling changed from the experience.
Do I think that Ann Arbor is a mystical wonderland of crystalline perfection? Of course not. I don’t believe that there’s anywhere which is as good as our idealized version of it. I think it’s a cool place with a lot of good food and great vibes. But, as I’ve assured friends over the last few months about Buffalo, I have no intention of moving to Ann Arbor either. I love Ashtabula County, I love my job(s), I love my community and my friends and chosen family here, and I love my house. I’m not interested in leaving any of that behind.
Because it’s not about Ann Arbor as a place, as a geographic location, that made it such a life-changing destination for me this weekend. Nope—it’s about Ann Arbor as the place where some people happen to live who are very dear to me. Those people were my homecoming, not the town.
I spent Friday evening with Margot and Todd and their four kids, which was an absolute joy. Getting to be just another part of their family for those three days was truly special.
On Saturday, Margot and I meandered across the town, stopping at a bookstore and a candy shop and an apple orchard and a Thai restaurant and a barbecue restaurant and catching a concert along the way. We walked the delightful dog and I got to experience some of the really cool parts of the University of Michigan campus that Margot loves. But most of all, we talked. It was the best day I’ve had since Kellie died, and that’s not because of any one single ingredient: it was the whole package, all together, all in one day.
Making friends is hard. I think we can all acknowledge the truth of that statement. I have also been incredibly fortunate over these last seven months. I would love to say that my singleminded dedication to watering and developing friendships has paid off with all these blossoming relationships, like tulips, all in a tidy line. But the truth is more complicated than that. I’ve put effort into making friends, but I’ve also screwed up lots of times. I’m trying to overcome a lifetime of inconsistency and nerves in this area. I’m trying to do better, I swear. I just feel like the people who are newly in my life, or who are newly more prominent in my life, have been okay with me not being a perfect friend, since they know I’m trying?
Whatever the reason, I’m reveling in these friendships. And my time with Margot was perfect. It’s hard not to feel like I’m tempting fate by telling you that I feel more loved by my support system than I did immediately after Kellie died, but it’s true, and I’m trying to say true things here, even if they’re scary.
Sunday was another incredibly special day, because that was the day I got to visit my Quaker meeting house and have a meeting for worship with them for the first time in person. We’ve been a part of that spiritual community for nearly five years, and I do not believe that it being there and us being in Ashtabula makes us any less of a part of the meeting than anyone else. Getting to walk through those doors and sit with my friends while we listened for the currents of the universe was an experience that I have sometimes thought I’d never get to have. I’m so grateful that I could be there.
I’m so grateful for all the people in that building and joining us online, whether we’ve gotten along or disagreed on pretty fundamental things over the years. I’m so grateful for you, too, for reading these words. I never know who reads it in their email, or on the app on their phone, or linked from Facebook. I haven’t looked too deeply into any of the statistical stuff that Substack does, because none of that matters as much to me as the fact that someone out there wants to spend a few minutes of their day caring about how I’m feeling or about how I’m doing. Thanks.
I cannot tell you how many people were startled to see me there, finally. And then came up to me for a hug or even just to say they were sorry about Kellie. There were many folks there who I wanted to go and say hi to but didn’t, mostly because it was pretty overwhelming to be in that space without Kellie. We were always meant to go there together, but we never did (and now we never will, and never can).
After the meeting house, we went to another friend’s home for lunch and another truly wonderful conversation. The perfect cap to a weekend full of stellar conversations.
I guess what I’m saying is that the people I spent the weekend with matter an awful lot to me. The people I’ve got here in Ashtabula matter an awful lot to me, too. And the people I’ve got in other places matter just as much to me. I can’t do this on my own.
I’m moving in the direction I need to move, and while I still believe that the concept of “healing” leaves a lot to be desired and is possibly fake, I’m making it. We’re making it. Together.
XOXO,
Matt