Watching the River

2:00 to 4:00 a.m. is a time period that I never knew much about until the last two years. When I was younger, I only visited that neighborhood while carousing, romancing or driving home from distant gigs. Lately, that time of night brings a wreath of unpaid bills, litigation, Chapter 7, angry words, family conflict, scheduling and logistical snarls, fear, frustration, shame and confusion which then rotates around my head until an hour or so before I need to go to work. Then there is a blissful hour of sleep followed by an even crueler few minutes of getting vertical for the day. I have experienced what seem like hundreds of those nights.

The loud and painful events bark for attention and lend themselves well to writing, but there are profound moments where relief is quietly realized. It sneaks up, especially after a great ordeal or a couple years’ worth. The alarm and vigilance don’t let up right away, so peace can come as something of a surprise.

I’m looking out the office window across a parking lot, past an iron rail and lamp post on the bridge and into the leftover glow from the sunset reflecting off the Damariscotta River.  The river usually races by, switching directions every six hours or so.  Right now it is still and silvery burnt orange.

I am ok. That is an incredible thing.

Strange Gifts

This week, I've spent a lot of time dealing with unexpected financial bombshells, some from faceless entities far away, some motivated by personal animosity very close to home, and no, I don't mean spouse or family. I've listened to rusty-hinged grating rude voices on the phone, experienced sophisticated manipulative behavior and general nastiness.

The lightbulb moment today was that the most recent assault propelled me into a place where I didn't crumble or fight. The person was a complete stranger who seemed to take in instantaneous disliking to me. She has that right. I don't need everyone to love or like me, because the ones that do are plenty. In any event, after 10 minutes or so of pointless friction, I thanked the person for her time and stayed true to what I thought was the right course of action. If I had not been in that uncomfortable place, I would not have found the strong, gentle core inside. Thank you, teacher.