Directions for a Lost Dancer.
My florals laughed at by the flowers,
whispering, hip. Whispering, there’s no
sidewalk that cares.
—Marina Keegan, from the poem “Bygones”
The ceiling of my joy is so high. Settled with myself, settling with myself. Dignity. She has history on her shoulders, deep desire in her eyes and while we’re at it, chipped nail polish on every finger except nine of them. Go on, giggle. We often forget that the people who can’t cry are also the ones who can’t laugh. I do not wish that for you. I haven’t written enough yet, emphasis on enough. In a world that reminds us constantly how far from the finish we are, I am trying to discern which avenue of more I desire most. Here we go.
I am frothing to be here, part of it all. Made to love someone, created to…I am not sure…yet. Listen. Closely, deeply and often. You are not behind, you are simply comparing yourself against a path not paved for you. Your winter boots wouldn’t track well in that snow. This is a societal symbol not a feeling, trust your body. Patience, my dear.
You will learn that business is business, “lost” is a frequent destination for anyone admirable, and sex can be so much more than just sex. Choose the version with meaning, even if they don’t. Trust me, I’ve tasted it.
When you run, chase after something bigger than yourself. When you walk, walk with grace and courage, next to someone who is kind. Kindness: an under appreciated characteristic in men.
Made to love someone. Created to discover all that makes up this life. Horses and heartbeats. Don’t shoot the messenger, or bite the maid. We are all here to show how God is describing you over mimosas at brunch. This is sacred. All of us together. The wrong date but an indistinguishable feeling from our birthday. Just promise me girls, you will create a plan to all come together even when you are busy, and this gets hard, and you have kids in different cities, promise me you will come together. I promise. We promise. Casey, can you come sleep in bed with me? I am scared. Scared that my dad is dying. Scared of the spirits in this old farm house and the creaky floor. Scared my relationship is ending. Scared of what is good for me. Scared of being lonely in London. I am really grateful to have you next to me in all of this. You are my best friend. The clouds are opening for you, my president of all the banks. Try being my size Amy. You can do things. You can do this. I am here, we are here.
Did you know horses can hear your heartbeat from four feet away? Sometimes when I am walking to work I will look at someone and think, I could have been them. Instead of me, I could have been born into their family, have their friends, job, looks, thoughts. Below the surface, we really are one and the same. Above the surface sometimes it feels like there is so much distance between myself and the stranger who is shoulder to shoulder with me on the train.
Every so often it hits me that you can hear my heartbeat reflected in these words, maybe you even hear your own. That’s the hope. That the path to becoming is illuminated in this delicately expressed limbo. My hope is we come together in this as we figure out who we are, as we discover all that we will become. Step by step and side by side, learning how to love who we have always been.
Love Always,
Casey
