Random Acts of Awesome

It is so very hard to see yourself through the eyes of people who think they know you. It’s like looking through a prism, or a muddy window. You know what you SHOULD be seeing, the landscape you’ve viewed every day for most of your life. You think you know the heights and the valleys, the sunshine and the darkness that you’re composed of. And then you see yourself through the eyes of family. Of people who need you to be what they think you are. And the hills and valleys, the light and dark, become a foreign landscape. That tree didn’t used to be so tall, that stream was 5ft to the left last time you looked. Your mind tries to make sense of what it’s seeing, scrambling to keep up with the changes, to provide reason and context for them. It pulls from a stagnant reservoir, 10 years untouched, of memory and sensation. And, finally, you have this new view of yourself. You look in the mirror and you see what they see. But it’s muddled and confusing. It’s terrifying, like looking in a funh

I'm sitting outside a little cafe in Lexington MA, drinking coffee and trying to reconnect to a sense of nostalgia. It hasn't been happening much this trip. Normally when I visit my past, I fall right into it. Wallowing, one might say, in the memories ands emotions of my youth. Its fun, but its also incredibly draining and unhealthy. That wallowing coats all my experiences with a sense of Not Quite Good Enough. Nothing ever feels as deep and intense as the emotions of your past. So, it leads to an intense sense of dissatisfaction. This trip, though, has been marked by clear eyed pragmatism. Mostly. I AM sitting outside the coffee shop where I met Michael for my first date. Michael, my forbidden boyfriend when I was 21, and he was 42. So, a little, teeny touch of nostalgia. But its not doing much for me. In an obvious attempt to make my heart beat faster, fate stuck a black lab on the sidewalk next to me, owned by a bearded Frenchman who looks disturbingly like Michael. When