Who you cry for has something to do with it. There wasn’t a place I hadn’t gone, I felt. Not a person I hadn’t looked in the eye. I had not gone through the motions. I had carefully taken account, written notes, scanned and sussed. There was a lure to this… My mentor told me that — well I don’t have a mentor. But I could imagine someone telling me that there is a string whose fibers seem to materialize along the way, and pull you. You should let go of that string before it lets go of you.
Well, I didn’t. I thought I would test out the wisdom I’d given myself. Books helped. The string seemed to defy physics, pull me in every direction at once the more I read. I sat at my desk at some school and held A Tale of Two Cities. I did not know why. I must’ve found it in my sister’s things. She must have been assigned it at some other school. Anyway, here was the string. My sister. She was now reading Song of Solomon. We were now reading it together. I was now forcefully suggesting it to my classmates because the English teacher was letting us start book clubs. I knew that if they would not read it, every page and every word, I would be different from them.
This is what I mean when I say there wasn’t a place I hadn’t gone. I had been changed in just about every way I had been asked to. I watched a television show. The absurd surprise of the final musical number! I folded my clothes at 8am. The difference it makes to press down the creases! I keep going. I I I. Maybe this hour it is that I have selected the right shirt, and no one I know had thought to log onto eBay at 3pm on Sunday and look for what they never thought they needed.
Right. Who you cry for has everything to do with it. You never know until it hits you. A knot in the string. Do you undo the knot? Heal? Unravel everything that got you here so you can “move on”? My mentor wouldn’t have it. The fibers grow if you refuse to let go.