believing what is not true
Sunday was my birthday and also Mother’s Day, a coincidence that occurred also on my sixteenth birthday, twenty-second birthday, forty-fourth birthday (my first dual celebration as a mother, I had to wait a long time for that), and a few other birthdays I have forgotten because they were unremarkable. On my birthday the apartment remained a mess, the worst of it possibly my bedroom, boxes and books and all kinds of paper scattered all over the floor, the sheets and blankets all a snarl on the bed. None of it to be dealt with until after I finish my final project for school. I didn’t get the email inviting me to the department graduation event, so I have to remember to call to find out what’s up with that. I have to remember to write down the necessity of calling, so that I don’t forget to call. I think I have about four or five to-do lists scattered on my desk, one on a post-it note and one on an index card torn in half.
Sunday was my birthday and I was in a fury the day before, a fury that surprised me because I thought I was “over that” or “past that”; after all, my birthday on Sunday was a big birthday, a milestone birthday, a birthday after which I’m possibly legitimately “old” now, so why haven’t I figured it all out by now? Haha. But of course there is nothing magic about a birthday; it is no more a fresh start than the start of the new year. My still-unmade bed is right here next to me to attest to the lack of freshness to this new stage of my life. Is it a new stage, really? Well, I finish school next week and in theory graduate the week after that, though I guess I have to remember to call the department office to make sure I’m right about that.
Sunday was my birthday and my fury the day before was a reminder that I believe in all kinds of things that are not true. Such as, if I were actually to get our apartment in order, then my entire life would also be in order, forever and ever afterward. Such as, if I don’t figure things out by such-and-such date (say, my birthday), it’s all hopeless. Such as, change is possible, but not for me.
What might be even more bizarre about many of these beliefs than the beliefs themselves is that I know they are not true and yet somehow I can’t let go of them.
What do I know is true? The tree of heaven that grows next to the fire escape by my window is in full leaf now, and birds are chirping. I can’t recognize most birds from their chirping, and I want to learn how to do so. I’m running in a half marathon tomorrow, and my body is antsy with anticipation. I feel like a wild horse, penned up, ready to go. I’m hungry again. Though I can make some reasonable predictions, I don’t actually know what will happen tomorrow, even less so the next day. Nevertheless, I keep checking the weather forecast. Looks like rain, but who can say how much until it’s falling.
