a solo walk through the park
during these social distant times
Coffee in hand, I step out of my car. This morning everything is foggy — I can barely see the water, which usually sits blue, waiting for me at the edge of the park that I used to visit as a little kid. So much has changed since then. I can feel anxiety rise up in my throat, and I push it down. A quick walk, and then I will go home.
I am listening to Billie Marten over headphones. The song is “Vanilla Baby.” It has been a while since I have allowed myself to think freely without imposing criticism on how I think. As I set my thoughts free, they come tumbling like little children craving the sweetness of the outside. I am not surprised to find that I am sad, but I think there is a little sadness in everyone. Without sadness, there would be nothing worth fighting for.
It has been years since I have been back here. To my left is a playground where I used to play as a little kid. All my worries then were about making friends. I was always a kid who felt too much. I was too sensitive, and still, that has not changed. It has been years since I have confronted that little child in myself, and she is still the same, sitting naively, waiting for a smile. It feels that I’ve spent my entire life until now running away from that little girl, trying to erase her and yet always coming back to her. I’ve finally let myself have a moment of pause, and if there must be a silver lining about this pandemic thing, perhaps this is it.
The world around me is often noisy and fast-paced, but here everything is quiet and unhurried. I step to my right to allow a jogger to pass. Then I walk again, smiling back at two women taking a walk together, chatting away. For a moment, I wonder what these people must think of me walking alone, but soon that worry drowns out to the sound of the guitar in Marten’s song. She sings, I am only good as you want me to be/I don’t know what I’m doing/It’s easy to see. I have no idea which way I should be going now, but I will keep walking and if I don’t like where I’m going I can take another route. If I get lost, I will do so contently. For the first time in a while, I have no problem having no plan.
It’s easy to feel as a young person that you have to have your entire life figured out. Sometimes you look around at others and wonder if you should be doing what they’re doing. Should you be more ambitious? Run a marathon? Get another degree? Move out to the city? Buy a house in the suburbs? So much built-up anxiety . . . and for what? For a pandemic to come and swipe the carpet from underneath your feet? Fill the path up in front of you with fog?
I once met an older couple who I will never forget. The husband was a silent one who seemed more logical and very attentive to his wife, who was showing signs of dementia. I asked them how they met.
The wife told me, “It’s a very simple story. I was at his house trying to hook up with his friend. And then he was there instead.”
“She didn’t accept me so easily, though,” the husband told me. “I called her after we met and left several messages and waited.” (“He waited like a puppy.”) They had been married for over 40 years.
Before I left them, the wife took my hand and said, “He’s been great. But I’m looking for a boyfriend. You know of any?”
I smile at the thought of them now, as I get closer to the lake. You go in with one intention and you leave with a husband, that’s what I think. I finish the last bit of my coffee. I throw it away and stop in front of the lake, blanketed with white fog. The fog can only be beautiful if I see it as beautiful, rather than a threat.
And so let it be beautiful.
And let me walk some more; I am in no hurry to get home.
I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.
-Sylvia Plath
