melancholy in an uncertain world
One of the people I met in Stuttgart updated his blog recently, after a long hiatus, with a rather plaintive comment: disappointment in an unnamed person. Something about not being surprised by their behavior.
I wanted to comment, but I really didn't know what to say. Nothing helpful or even intelligent was forthcoming, and I felt a bit of a fool for even clicking on the comment button to attempt it. Anything I started writing felt trite or even patronizing: "Hope school's going well" or "Things will get better" or similar nonsense.
Even saying "I don't know what to say" felt stupid.
And then I berate myself for not reaching out to a friend.
And then I come here and post, hoping to make sense of it all.
I feel guilty about not being a better friend to him, about letting my emotional turmoil distance myself from my friends in the last few weeks we were all there, about not writing or emailing or calling any one of these people who were my family for a few short months in the spring.
There was a feeling of the eternal during those dinners we had, every Saturday night. A certainty, a harmony, never to be rivaled or duplicated. A feeling of home in the wilderness. The community, the intimacy of shared meals, shared lives.
So, for Fjalar, for Anders, for Ragnar, for Lyndsey and for Katie -- Prost.
[crossposted to nowthis.blogspot.com]
I wanted to comment, but I really didn't know what to say. Nothing helpful or even intelligent was forthcoming, and I felt a bit of a fool for even clicking on the comment button to attempt it. Anything I started writing felt trite or even patronizing: "Hope school's going well" or "Things will get better" or similar nonsense.
Even saying "I don't know what to say" felt stupid.
And then I berate myself for not reaching out to a friend.
And then I come here and post, hoping to make sense of it all.
I feel guilty about not being a better friend to him, about letting my emotional turmoil distance myself from my friends in the last few weeks we were all there, about not writing or emailing or calling any one of these people who were my family for a few short months in the spring.
There was a feeling of the eternal during those dinners we had, every Saturday night. A certainty, a harmony, never to be rivaled or duplicated. A feeling of home in the wilderness. The community, the intimacy of shared meals, shared lives.
So, for Fjalar, for Anders, for Ragnar, for Lyndsey and for Katie -- Prost.
[crossposted to nowthis.blogspot.com]