22 June 2011

Dream of far away

I lead a charmed life.

Sometimes it's almost enough to make me believe in fate or destiny. Generally, I just believe in the hard work which has gotten me where I'm going most of my life. But occasionally, there is a certain element of...magic? Things happen, people come into my life, a confluence of events and there it is.

It's like I was waiting my whole life for this, for you, and I didn't even know it. But there it is, and chills run right through my body as I recognize it.

I'm a workhorse. No other way to put it, really. A perpetual motion machine, a brain that never stops, an aerialist on the high wire who has to keep moving or fall. But the electricity stopped me in my tracks at the beginning, in the middle, tell me there is no end. I could fall. I have fallen. In the best way possible. But the currents and eddies hold me aloft, prevent gravity and gravitas from marring my delight.

Things hiss and hum along. I meet my obligations. I am serious. I am direct. I am pragmatic. I am logical. "You have all the cuddliness of a hand grenade," a friend once told me reprovingly.

Probably true. At least she didn't say "porcupine."

But still, there was magic...

It's not that I'm unromantic, I just keep it well hidden. How was I to confess at 14 and nearly six feet tall that all I really wanted was to be able to put my head on a boy's shoulder when I was dancing with him? The short answer: I didn't. Yet it never stopped me from occasionally wanting to hand the reins over to someone else, to be swept off my size 10 feet. But I set that aside. Accepted that I had a good life nonetheless. I worked hard for my degrees, hard for my jobs, hard in my jobs. I never lost my joy, but I was serious, so serious.

Yet, magic.

I set the wheels in motion. I don't deny that. Young, gauche, incredibly naive, I talked my way into improbabilities. And then wondered how to get myself out again. Usually a smile and a quick-witted remark saved my silly bacon, that and long legs and the ability to back quickly out of tight spots.

I remember thinking, "Perhaps I should have thought this through."

I remember thinking, "Now what?"

And I have to laugh at my courageous, utterly ridiculous younger self. She was careful and hurt nothing, hurt no one. She had a good heart, a firm resolve and absolutely no idea what she was doing.

But she made magic.

Eventually, the time came to set my heart loose again. Older, a little wiser, I let it go where it would. The results were surprising and funny.

And magic.

I'm still serious. And logical. The aerialist on the high wire, moving forward so she won't drop the balls, the dish, won't fall, won't bring the world down around her. And I'm still reasonably clueless, still careful. But I think that magic might live in that space in between, the moment between breaths that leaves me breathless. There it is.

Oh, there is the aggravating and the angering and the days and weeks and months when nothing goes right. Still, I am certain.

I lead a charmed life.

Go listen to some music: "Magic" from the album Pilot (From the Album of the Same Name) by Pilot. This started with the idea "I lead a charmed life" (which I DO. Don't doubt that) that I was playing around with whilst being miserable on the exercise bike this morning. This is one of those cases where the idea took control, and I was just the typist. It went far afield of what I had in mind.

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