I want to learn to be soft and vulnerable. It would take a deep, profound transformation, though. It’s something I’ve never had.
I told Louise a couple weeks ago that I’d rather live without anxiety–without the fear that any day now, Ron or I could die in a car crash, for instance–and get knocked flat now and then by life. My dark fears are a way of trying to control, trying to always prepare for the worst, so when it happens I’ll be ready. But this habit of always being ready robs me of the good times. I’d rather have the good times.
I’ve been thinking about Dad a lot lately. I miss him and lately feel a fierce loyalty to him, to the good soul, the best parts of him underneath the damage. I want to change the dedication of my book to something like, “For Dad. After everything, I am still fiercely yours. I love you.”
Last night I dreamed vividly that there were additional rooms in our house that we’d forgotten about. A second, unused garage behind the back of a closet, another room behind that. Both were finished with a dusty, cool light and worn furniture, waiting for us to sneak away to them or open them up to the world.