An impromptu trip to New York in June (it feels like this summer is nothing except one impromptu trip to the East Coast) to visit my farthest-away niece. Family photographs and familiar places made unfamiliar with the passing of time. New museums and old museums in the span of a few quick days. At the end of this week I’ll make the trip again, this time to the farthest point, from one water to another, and not one niece this time but two.
This summer’s slipped away and lasted forever. It’s been the most productive block of time I’ve had in years. It’s been everything a summer should be. I feel the pieces falling into place—all the pieces I’ve been struggling to catch! All finally within my grasp!—and I’m trying to just to let them go where they will. I’m trying not to catch every one before it falls, examine it to death, overthink it until it’s meaningless.
An email from a friend overseas:
Do you think part of your anxiety might be panicking that everything’s so good, it feels like you’ve got a lot to lose?
I repeated this to myself that night, the next morning, all through the following week. I wrote it down and wondered how much truth there was to it. I wrapped birthday presents and tied bows and photographed a baby shower in the hills of Studio City and all the while her words bounced around in my brain until they settled down and made sense.
I haven’t written her back yet, but I will soon, and I’ll say: Yes. Yes, I think that’s exactly right. I think you’re exactly right. Thank you for putting it into words.