Yesterday I drove to Tulsa to dance and have an informal business meeting with a friend of mine. It was simply the perfect day. First I poked around in a bookstore, did some window shopping, and read a short book that I bought a few days ago about quality. Then I went to the dance and saw some of my favorite folks. Talk about quality! I got to see my friend Hannah, who’s a badass dancer, has a killer wardrobe, and always makes me laugh-laugh-laugh. She’s glorious. Then I got to see my friend Marina, who’s ninety-six, still dances, and had a t-shirt on that said, “I never planned to be AWESOME. It just happened.” Also glorious.
At the end of the evening, Marina and I got into a conversation about birthdays. Hers is in March. “Yours is in September,” she recalled. “Yes,” I said. “What do you think I should do to celebrate?”
Marina leaned back and threw her arms out wide. “DO SOMETHING CRAZY!”
I love it, and just might.
After the dance I met my friends Greg and Rita for dinner at a local pub, Kilkenny’s, the coolest spot to hang out. There, while waiting for the son Mason to show up, Greg and Rita and I talked about how this was the norm in some societies, to end the day by meeting your friends for a drink, to connect with your community. “In Europe, television is expensive,” Rita said, “so people actually get out of their houses and look for ways to interact with each other.”
Now there’s a novel idea.
When Mason arrived, he and I turned our chairs toward each other and chatted about business and marketing (his field of expertise) for an hour or two. At one point Mason joked to someone else, “I charge $500 an hour, but Marcus doesn’t know that yet.” At the end of the evening, I said, “I really do appreciate your letting me pick your brain, since I know this is your profession.” Then Mason gave me a hug and said, “Anytime. You’re family.” This is no small thing, when other people accept you with open arms.
Also glorious.
Leaving Tulsa at two in the morning, I stopped once on the side of the turnpike in the middle of nowhere to look at stars. There’s a meteor shower (The Perseids) this weekend, and I was hoping to get a better glance outside the smog and light-pollution of the big city. And whereas I only saw two falling stars, I saw two falling stars! Plus, I could see the Milky Way and hundreds (if not thousands) of stars that I normally can’t see in Van Buren. Actually, I saw so many stars that I had a hard time finding many of the familiar constellations that I can normally spot at a glance. I’m just not accustomed to the sky being so “busy.”
Driving the rest of the way home, I thought, I wish I’d seen more falling stars. But when I got back to Van Buren the sky was covered in clouds–I couldn’t see a damn thing. So I was immediately and deeply grateful for my time on the side of the turnpike with my head craned toward the heavens, when, for a brief moment, everything shone.
During the last half of my drive, I listened to a CD by the philosopher Alan Watts. He’s dead now, but he’s one of my favorites. Anyway, just as I was pulling into Van Buren, Alan said, “When you look at the clouds, they are not symmetrical. They do not form fours and they do not come along in cubes, but you know at once that they are not a mess. They are wiggly, but in a way, orderly, although it is difficult for us to describe that kind of order. Now, take a look at yourselves. You are all wiggly. We are just like clouds, rocks, and stars. Look at the way the stars are arranged. Do you criticize the way the stars are arranged?”
I can’t tell you how much I love this, the reminder that it’s okay–normal–to be wiggly like a cloud or scattered about like the stars–sometimes hiding behind the clouds, sometimes shining brightly, sometimes falling. Today’s blog is number 500 (in a row!). Looking back, it’s been a lot of “seasons,” a lot of ups and downs, a lot of trips and falls. Yet this is clearly the way of it, the way of life. We come together, we dance, we say goodbye. (We wiggle.) And how good it is to know that as we wiggle, you and I are exactly like the clouds and the stars–also glorious.
All–so–glorious.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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It’s hard to say where a kindness begins or ends.
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