Given the extended length of time since my last post, I thought I'd write a quick one since it's Christmas time. I'm sitting in my parents' house, on my mother's computer, in my old bedroom, looking out the window at the snow. It started snowing last night - Christmas - and it hasn't really stopped since.
There's a distinct comfort that I feel being here. Suddenly, I can let go of my responsibilities. I'm not in charge. This isn't my house. I don't have to work. I'm folded back into the dynamic with which I grew up, with a few tweaks: my sister, Ginna, is accompanied by her new husband, Alex, and a few extra rings on her fingers; my sister, Catey, also carries a new ring on her finger, as she is now engaged to Scott as of last Saturday.
I think that I've desired control for a long time. But at some point, I also began to desire the ability to relinquish it. A few months ago I wrote a post about the summer camp that I went to, Ballibay. I had just felt a massive emotional swell, which was unexpected, and I came to two conclusions about why it happened. But here's what I left out: at that time in my life, I was not responsible. The most for which I had to be responsible was remembering the lines to a few songs. No rent, no bills, no serious relationships, no dogs, no job, no path of my own choosing. I was told where to go and what to do and it was glorious. I miss it.
So being here in my parents house with my family throws me back to that time. It's a weekend when I get to let go. Tomorrow I have to go back to work. Tomorrow I have to cook dinner. Tomorrow I have to walk my dog. But today, I get to sit in my old bedroom and watch the snow fall, totally unable to control it.
