A chance for all of us to grow will come with this goodbye

One of my blessings with one of hers

"What's the biggest thing on your mind right now?"

           ---My friend Maureen,over a glass of wine

Every so often, when I'm tangled, I go to the altar of Oprah and try, as she describes it, to "be still and ask myself, what is this trying to teach me?"

More often than my friend Maureen probably intended, that question of "the biggest thing"  has centered me even more than the words of Oprah.

One day last week, after dealing with a funk that has had me on my own nerves for a couple of weeks, I woke up feeling so much  happier and easier to please, it made me kind of, I don't know, nervous.

A funk is not lonely and exhausting like depression is. A funk is impatient and restless. A depression makes you circle the same negative thoughts about how wrong you were about life.  A funk makes you annoyed with anyone who interrupts your frustration to ask if things are better.  

And I'll say this about coming out of a funk.  When people claim that, in the middle of a weighty, confusing time, they just looked around and counted their blessings and felt better, I want to say:

You're not helping the rest of us.

You can know very well how blessed and fortunate you are. You can look out the window and see the sun shining, and you can reflect on your good friends, and your endless luck and serendipity and bullets dodged, and it will not make a bit of difference  if you are unable to shove the clutter aside and dig out the biggest thing on your mind.

Sometimes you have to look for it, that big thing that is corrupting the small things.

It is almost always something that feels beyond your control, a thing you want but can't get, or something you have and can't get rid of.  It might be about wondering if you're all you were, or knowing that you are, but won't be forever.

At age never mind, I've learned that "being still" can be harder than either locating the biggest thing or  what it is trying to teach you. It takes practice to  make it quiet enough to hear your own heart.   

My daughter will move to California next month. Have I known about this for several months?  Do I know that this is the most exciting thing that has happened to her? Do I know that she's wanted this for eight years, and that  if it were taken away from her, I would feel as devastated as she would? And would I do anything to help her open every door if the chance for her happiness might be behind it?

Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

And. 

Do I have total faith in her ability to seize this opportunity, embrace the discoveries and power through the adjustments?  You bet I do.

And.

When I am grocery shopping and reaching for vine tomatoes and realize that I miss her, will I be unable for the first time in twenty-eight years to book brunch on Sunday, or meet for a walk by the Charles? Yes, I will be unable to do that. We had that brunch and that walk, our last for a while, two weeks ago. 

The next day, I woke up and my funk was sitting there. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that the greatest factor in close relationships is proximity," said my funk.

Soon after, I met Sam for dinner in Boston. We covered the usual subjects; his job, my writing, what everyone in the family was up to. We talked about change; expectations of a year ago, the ones which have or haven't materialized. We agreed that living in the present is about making it worth remembering in the future.

Said twenty-three year old Sam:  "I tell my friends when we're having a great time, 'You never know when you're in the middle of a great memory.'"

The next morning, I woke with the attitude I'd been looking for. The funk was gone and the biggest thing on my mind was what kind of hotel I would make my go-to when I make those trips out west. 

I opened my calendar. I envisioned the year that was coming. What the weather is like in Michigan in March, in California in August.

I planned four trips.

Two to California, to see Jacqueline.

Two to Michigan to see Courtney who has just moved there with her new husband, Ken-who-we-love.

I googled hotels and found places I will love when I visit.

I got street views of restaurants where we'll brunch,  and places where we'll walk. 

I thought about what I don't know now, but will have learned  in a year from now.

And mostly, I thought about what this now-gone funk taught me before it left: that inside every change is an opportunity to grow  that may not present itself any other way. 

This change in my daughter's life will change my own, the way it should, not only because of  the great memories that have yet to be made, but because I intend to be in the middle of each one.