The subject was sociology, the chapter on research methods, and the examples all seemed related to families in some way. Stupid daytime talk shows were playing in the corners of the cafe, someone pranking their employees by offering Labor Day off, then rewarding the audience with free three-day stays in a Bermuda hotel. What a perfect way to build a society where work is a meaningless misery.
I was suddenly so lonely for my family and my home, and my wonderful life in which home is our default location and together our default way. I started to feel a panic attack coming on. Do I really live in a world where it's so unusual to get Labor Day... LABOR DAY... off that one can laugh at yanking back the excitement of getting it? Why do all those people not quit and go home and take care of each other? We can do so much better than this and in so many places and ways, we do.
I packed up my books, tossed the caffeine, and walked over to the riverfront. A busker was playing guitar music that reminded me of the blues rock band in which my dad played during my formative years. I thought of the professor who, last night, had so reminded me of my dad: a crackhead, a motorcycle rider, a loyal dad in a crappy marriage, a ruffian-looking academic and philosopher at heart. The professor had said there was no good reason for he, himself, to not be in jail right then, that it was god's grace. I knew that Dad, outside of jail, would also have counted his blessings, would have been aware of how amazingly lucky he is. Dad may never again have a free moment to play his guitar, recommend a book, or walk by the river. He deserves that, but also, no one does.
I yearned for home. For family. For goodness. I could feel everyone in jail, everyone in kindergarten, and everyone at work on Labor Day, all yearning for it. Is not the purpose of life HOME?
I collected my singing boy and shipped him off to his own dad's, then wandered back over to the river to watch the sun go down, to wonder how I missed that kindergarten-basic skill of going four hours without really, deeply, distractingly missing one's home and family.
I thought about quitting school and staying home. Would I be able to work if I missed my family this much while at school? But I love the work I'm studying to do. In the three weeks I've been a mortuary science student, dozens of people have told me that they don't really want to be embalmed, buried in a vault, cremated at atmosphere-damaging energy levels, and thanked me for pursuing a path as an advocate for folks desiring better ends. I feel so devastatingly sad that people who work all their lives to live sustainably end up subject to something they think of as immoral in the last moments of their presence on the planet. I can't stop pursuing this. Something just as deep inside me won't let me.
How did I ever get here? I thought. At this river. At this sunset. In this town. What would my ancestors think? What would my six-year-old self think if I went back in time and showed her what became of me?
They wouldn't know what any of it meant. They wouldn't know how I got there. They'd just hear the music, smell the pleasant September-ness in the air, take in the lovely view of this bustling, reviving, countercultural downtown on this crazy estuary river that was visibly flowing two ways in sparkling sunset tones.
This moment is pretty great, my ancestors would think. This moment is full of goodness.
Had they passed that on to me, y abused, hard-done-by, hardworking, crazy ancestors? Yes, they taught me that you have to find your joy in the little things because life will never definitely give you anything better than a sunset.
When I die, I thought, that's what I want to have left on Earth: a knowledge, in my kids, maybe in lots of other people, that on a microscale, life is always gorgeous. That if you just look at what's in front of you, there's beauty and wonder and goodness there. If you are forced to be away from your loved ones, if civilization is falling down round your ears, if you are hurting and can't escape it, if no one loves you, if someone is trying to make sure no one in their community treats you with dignity, well, the sun is still going to set in pastel tones at the end of the day, the stars will still sparkle, bugs and bacteria and foxes in the woods will still spring into life and lick their pups across the forehead. Just look at that and it'll maintain you. A spiderweb glistening in the moon light will fill you up enough to get you through another day of hell if you just give yourself over to it for a moment.
Knowing that my kids know that, knowing that my dad in jail does, knowing that actually gurus have been teaching it for all of time, I could breathe again. And carry on with work.
May the whole world learn to cling tight to the glimmery spiderwebs and rest in the faithfulness of life's urge to life and rejoice in the beauty of the earth turning always its face away from the sun. And may I.