June122009
6/12/09 - Ginger Grilled Tuna and Wasabi Mashed Potatoes.
While I was in D.C. last weekend, Gunder made me a dinner of fish steak and an assortment of stewed vegetables. We had a whole year of stories to share with each other, so as soon as we put the fish in the oven and the vegetables on the stove, we sat down with a bottle of Argentine Malbec and let the words flow.
Something she said that evening shook me.
She was describing someone in her life and though it had nothing to do with me, the account sounded increasingly familiar.
Familiar,
yet strange at the same time.
Then I realized why.
I was staring at a likeness of my past self, only from the opposite angle. Perplexity - I hadn’t considered a possible reaction to behaviors like mine. But there I was, sitting by my friend, listening to every detail of her confusion.
Eye-opening.
The patterns I’ve been observing these past few months, the lessons I’ve learnt, the thoughts I’ve been writing down suddenly all came together. What occurred to me is not a new thought, but it’s the first time it’s complete, therefore liberating.
Why? Gunder wondered aloud. Why would anyone act like that?
I laughed finally, after all the days of not being able to find humor in the story. I laughed, overwhelmed by embarrassment.
Why? I repeated after her, That’s a very good question.
I can only speak for myself, Gunder,
but I suspect it’s a similar situation with your friend.
Simply put: I was afraid.
I was at a point in my life where I felt so beaten down, I could not bring myself to trust the good that came. I did not believe it would come to me, so that even when it stood right in front of my face, I denied its reality. I needed to be persuaded. I needed assurance. But how can we demand chance to prove its worth to us, especially when we don’t feel ourselves worthy of its blessings?
All the while,
I had looked put together, as if I knew what I was doing and what I wanted.
But I really didn’t know.
***
It’s shocking, how effortless it is for me to reconcile with these feelings now.
The funny thing is, Marc told me once during our tango private,
Everything should be easy. If it’s not yet, you are still not doing it right. All the difficult things now will one day be really easy, and that’s how they should be. You will look back and wonder why you had spent two years learning that one move.
***
This entire week,
I’ve been walking around with an ironic smile I cannot suppress.
What was all the struggle for?
A lightness had come over me. I find I no longer have to fight for air. It’s been increasingly easy to breathe as time passed by, but at last it feels natural.
I am laughing the way growing children do, when they finally understand the monsters that had terrorized them are only pets of imagination. Memories of what I did and didn’t do send me squirming, but the discomfort is surprisingly pleasant. It tickles really, and reminds me that I’ve grown up enough to be embarrassed by past fears.
***
Emilia once gave me a poem.
A Ritual To Read To Each Other
If you don’t know the kind of person I am
and I don’t know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.
For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.
And as elephants parade holding each elephant’s tail,
but if one wanders the circus won’t find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.
And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider—
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.
For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give—yes or no, or maybe—
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.
— William Stafford
***
Don’t forget the lessons you’ve learned, Gabriella told me last night at the Milonga. Wherever you go, remember what I said. We forget too easily.
I will feel binding fear again, I know. I will be tempted over and over to allow insecurities to paralyze me, to muddle my signals. Such is the human condition. Still, I want to memorize this moment of clarity, and try to remember how powerless fear is when I refuse to feed it with still more fear.
The monsters are only in our heads.
***
What monsters?
***
Lost in conversation, Gunder and I almost forgot about our food. We remembered in time, but only according to me.
Gunder took a bite of the fish. It’s hot and dry, she said.
And I’m sorry, the vegetables have turned into mush.
But they were perfect together, parched fish moistened by tender veggie pulp. The way mistakes work out.
I am still feeling dazed from our exchange, and I miss the taste of our dinner. Since I don’t know how to replicate the accident without another conversation as captivating, I decided to go with the concept of fish and vegetables to create a new meal: Sushi-grade tuna, marinated in ginger, garlic, soy sauce, vinegar, sesame oil and a pinch of sugar. Served with a side of wasabi cream cheese mashed potatoes.
***
The morning I left Gunder’s apartment for my bootcamp, it was a little before seven. The sky was still gentle and I could see paths of sunshine descending through leaves.
In the afternoon, when I returned I found a dandelion near her place.
With one breath, I scattered all of its seeds to the breeze.
Later, while waiting for my bus,
a man beside me caught a firefly between his fingers.
He studied its neon green flashes until he grew bored,
and finally let the poor thing go.
Before heading home, I passed by Freedom Plaza,
where couples danced tango outdoors in the night.
There, a stranger gave me flowers he had picked from the sidewalk.
On the late night train back to Philly, I let the motions rock me to sleep.
