Tea Green and Fadey Mist

To quote a line from the fabulous Monty Python: “I’m not dead yet.”

A couple weeks ago I was again privileged to attend another wedding- this time the wedding of my brother, Chad, to his fiancé (duh), Jodi. It was a gorgeous wedding. My other brother, Rob, and I acted as the groomsmen.

As usual, attending a wedding always brings up those nagging questions, both from relatives and in my own mind. So naturally, being me, I spent a good deal of the time when I wasn't at parties or ceremonies mooning around, wondering when something that awesome is going to happen to me. In this way, I both love and hate weddings. On the one hand, it's beautiful representation of an eternal physical, mental, and spiritual commitment. On the other, it's a cruel reminder to the biological clock to GET BUSY.

Naturally, I also spent a lot of time in airports and hotels that weekend. I think airports have to be some of the loneliest places in the world. Since I’m the kind of person that thrives on misery in my personal life, maybe it was good for me. I think it was, because something happened to me that weekend: I started to write again.

I haven’t been able to write since Laura and I broke up. Sure, I touched up old poem collections and wrote album reviews, but those aren’t the same. There’s no danger there, and there’s nothing of me in those things. I’ve been scared that I wouldn’t be able to write ever again; that wellspring of inspiration and imagination just seemed to dry up that last time I hung up the phone on her. For the first time in my life, I thought: “That’s it, I’m done. It’s over.”

But I wasn’t done, and when I found myself on an airplane and confronted by the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, a wall broke inside me. I sat down and pulled out my notebook and began writing furiously. I never spoke with her. I think that if I had, it would have been ruined. But for that moment in my life, she was exactly the thing I needed, perfect in every way, and I found myself moved in a way that I thought I’d forgotten how to be. I don’t even know if what I wrote was any good, I just know that I was writing again, and it was wonderful.

Thank you so much, whoever you are. I hope you are blessed as much as you blessed me. Thank you.