Thursday, January 27, 2011
Have you met Miss Jones?
I can't really explain why I have such an affinity for Bridget Jones.
I don't smoke and I hate the taste of vodka. I like to think my streak of bad judgment with men has come to an end.
Still, something about her mildly defeatist personality, the fact that she never has quite the whole story before she takes drastic action, makes me think it could have just as easily been me falling out of a cab onto the street instead of her.
And honestly, here, thousands of miles from Bridget's London flat, there are still days when I feel like doing this:
It's not that I'm really all by myself in the cabin. Andy goes work and I do my thing all day: working, blogging, writing. Andy comes home, we tackle dinner and the dishes and more often than not snuggle up for the nightly Netflix. For the most part, I'm a creature of habit and a structured day after day routine suits me just fine.
There also days when the cabin walls seem to be creeping closer and closer together.
I remember how much I longed for this during the crazy summer months: the quiet, the solitude. And there's nothing I regret about spending these winter days typing away at the computer, gazing out on a sparkly winterscape, watching the sun rise in muted apricot hues and set in splendid raspberry skies. I'm safe here, in a calm, static nucleus of a crazy colorful world.
While my friends off getting advanced degrees, engagement rings, marriages, babies, houses, I'm just here in the woods with a steady job, no significant travel plans, and a new retirement fund. Things plod along steady like and secure as can be, yet hardly a day goes by when it doesn't feel like I'm missing something. There's deep inconvenience to this life in the woods, one that makes sharing in others' triumphs difficult and distant. There are times when phone calls with friends just don't cut it.
Each invitation to an event or celebration means juggling schedules, worrying about weather, and pounding hundreds of miles of pavement. There's no popping over to friend's house for happy hour. Even the Thursday trips into town for trivia have become a thing of the past with our increased distance from town.
It's easy to feel left out.
Yet, I remember the words of Nick Drake's song, "Road": You can take a road that takes you to the stars now. I can take a road that'll see me through.