strands of sentimentality

I inherited my father's lack of attachment to people  to the same degree I inherited my mother's easy laughter. When a moment is done, I can silently resign myself to what comes next and beckon joy to come over for dinner, from across the next street. I was to made  move on with ease. But I can laugh about almost anything too. Especially loss. Especially when a circumstance has gotten too serious. Similarly, I got stuck (as stuck as I allow myself to be) with my dad's cynicism but won the jackpot with my mom's knack for befriending mere strangers.

 I can go down the list and point to qualities I have and don't have (re: timeliness) and track it back to the particular parent or other figures that have loomed large enough to leave a mark, an etching in the tree bark, on me. Sometimes I'm left with a certain phraseology that's permeated my defenses, little phrases I've co-opted. Examples include but are not limited to:  a$$ hat; peace out girl scout; hell yeee brother; dense; ole ole ole; JeSuS cHrIsT, sus and various other GenZ words. Sometimes it is the expressions that stick with me: a solid, single, out-of-place chuckle, the perfect smirk, the 'rock on' hand gestures, the knowing deep breathe and many other things. At other points, it is the comforting expressions that are tattooed on my forehead when it should be: the 'put your oxygen mask on before you try to help someone else'; my Aunt's great deference to God on all things: 'if it is good, let it be. If it is not, please take it away from me.' My favorite is the mixing of languages: using a Spanish word, a phrase in word Arabic, or the the occasional smattering of something Yiddish. These mixtures are reminders and they bring me so many emotions--both joy and sorrow nest in my heart.

Joy and sorrow are so intertwined; there's no separating the two. Khalil Gibran once wrote:

"Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises

oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you

can contain..."

When things change--a big move, a loss of person(s), a change in job, whatever it is--will be tinged with both. I've been called sensitive more than enough times to recognize it is now as a sixth sense.  Joy and sorrow compete for my attention; I pick one and run with it;  it's best to give in for a while. To feel the feeling honestly, so you can move on. The trick is to feel enough, so then you may empty out that which weighs upon your soul. When that's done, your body and mind are free to dance--dance with whoever and do the things you'd do if you weren't crushed from the weight of feeling. Feelings of litheness are key.

In the past month, I moved into a new apartment--my first only-me apartment!! I've finished my internship in Michigan (remotely). I've begun my final year of law school and likely my last year in Fayetteville. I've reconnected with old friends; I've fallen in and out of new friendships; I have laughed and cried; I have driven and walked miles to gather my thoughts; I've seen my future and then seen it change. I feel this need to describe the depth of sadness and the depth of joy perfectly---I realize it might never come; the words might never come.

So I feel the feelings; I let them light up, and I let them go. So I may keep moving, so I may be agile when the time calls for it. If I can give that to another, I'd love to--wrap it up in really nice paper and leave it on a doorstep. But I can't, so I will ensure it is in writing and capable of being shared digitally.