I’m in a subjunctive mood,” she said finally. p 120
“Come on. You’re a poet. The subjunctive. Indicating that everything is possible and contingent. Hypothetical. I’m just having a subjunctive month.”
”A subjunctive March,” Jacob agreed. p 121
I had an Epiphany on Sunday. It made sense, after spending the morning reading in bed, that one could gain the kind of clarity that can bring on capital letter events.
When I read good writing, I find that it brings me that much closer to imagining it for myself. Choosing to rest and let the dishes wait for another time, maybe letting the To Do list items languish for longer, I could see what I really desire. As much as I want a house (and you long-time readers are saying “Give the lady a house already” in the
same way you want to see your favorite TV characters get together) I want the writing more. And the good news is that that’s within my control. It doesn’t cost a thing so it won’t set me back monetarily, but I do have to commit to it. I have to learn to say No to other things. If I look into the mirror at Hogwarts it’s the words I would see. The words I long for. I know this now.
A quiet, life-changing revelation on a Sunday like any other.
If I never have a house to call my own, then I guess— so be it. I’m tired of expending this energy on houses that we’ll never live in. I’m the type who wants to make the situation, any situation, work out. It was the same when we would visit a college with T. We would step on a campus and my mind would start moving a million miles a minute
imagining different scenarios. Sometimes this talent is a blessing, but honestly, it’s exhausting. We’ve visited more than a dozen houses in the past few months and I’ve envisioned us in each and everyone. I know I shouldn’t get attached and start to plan which pieces of furniture fit where… My heart just wants to make it work.
But maybe, and this is a capital letter Maybe—it doesn’t matter. I found this passage in the Jansma book as well and underlined it with the certainty of a deep connection:
She’d live with him in a refrigerator box, in a nursery rhyme show, a teepee, an igloo, or a fortress made of couch cushions. Let the doubters doubt. Let the future be unsure. In a city of eight million, they’d always be two. p 47
It’s not that I’m giving up, I’m just going to put my intentions elsewhere. Here’s t to discovering your heart’s truest desires and finding the space and energy to make it happen.