Thursday, April 7, 2011

letter five


Dear Bartender,

I've had much in mind to write to you; however, I haven't sat down to do so. Perhaps it's the holding pattern I find we're in right now. Or, at least, that's what these couple of weeks have felt like.

Last weekend, you went with a carpenter friend to measure the bar. When I asked you how the trip went, you rattled off your plans for introductory improvements for the opening then those that'd elbow up to the occasion once the business finds its groove. You seem calm. Quietly focused. The frustration of the paperwork, nagging computer use, and waiting for e-mail responses and phone calls has subsided. Now, you're back to your comfort zones of carpentry and bar service.

Funny thing is, this impending change looms in the background of our usual daily happenings, despite being the one circumstance that will change EVERYTHING -- where we live, where we work, how often we see each other -- simply everything.

I'm nervous. I don't share this energy with you. Nothing is wrong, per se. I just don't know what I'll be up to once all of these changes surface. Makes me feel...unsettled. Unsettled before being settled. I try to imagine what job I'll have. I can't. I try to imagine where we'll live. I can't. I try to imagine how I'll help with the business. I can't. All of these selfish unknowns test me. Do I just let go of the concern? Hope it all with fall into appropriate place?

The last time I found myself among this sort of mindful company, was over six years ago, just before we started dating. I moved twice. I fell out of love with a longtime someone (and like with another). I watched for signs.

After a few months of doing so, I landed in Cambridge, blocks away from you. A friend brought us together. Soon, we were dating. And, that's when I realized that letting go of plans could lead to my perfect outcome. Now, I must rekindle familiarity with this lesson. Trust in the unknown. Nervous. Curious. It's all good.

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