I’m working diligently, although not always successfully, to stop dwelling in the past after my month in New York reliving, reconnecting, and rehashing so many of those moments that made me who I am now. Many moments I prefer to leave behind … in New York… forever.
I won’t whine. I won’t tell you of all the oh-so-sad moments in my past. There were also plenty of oh-so-happy moments. They’re just not always oh-so-easy to remember.
I had my regular psychiatrist appointment yesterday. It’s not much more than a “med check” to ensure all is well. All is not well with one of my two meds, which I’ve been on for most of the 4-1/2 years we’ve been in Spain. I’ve noticed I’m experiencing some side-effects in recent months. Really very minor, but enough for us to make a change. So, I’m phasing off this one and will probably try something new soon.
(Click any image to make the trails — all bird prints — more clear.)
My visit was a revelation (I’d say Epiphany, but that was Wednesday). I can now easily speak with my psychiatrist, in Spanish, on any subject.
A WALK ON THE BEACH.
During our brief conversation, as I answered a question, it dawned on me that despite all the bumps in the road it turns out my life is the kind of life I fantasized about as a child. My sister Dale had the same kinds of childhood fantasies and, although her life was filled with bumps and only lasted 29 years, I think a lot of her fantasies came true, as well.
We both imagined lives different from most of our friends and family (not better, just different). We both imagined foreign lands, foreign loves. Dale traveled the world, married young, and lived in England with her foreign prince.
I met San Geraldo from South Dakota (even more foreign to a New Yorker than someone from England). We moved often, constantly re-imagining our lives. And now we’ve made a foreign land our home — and no longer foreign. And we’re still constantly re-imagining our lives.
The psychiatrist asked me if I felt that Dale was traveling with me through life. Without hesitation, I said, “Absolutely.”
I was never a fan of author Louis L’Amour, but I like this:
“No memory is ever alone;
it’s at the end of a trail of memories,
a dozen trails that each have their own associations.”