What Bitter Road It's Traveled

from Sweetness, Stephen Dunn

"...Often a sweetness comes

as if on loan, stays just long enough

to make sense of what it means to be alive,

  then returns to its dark 

source.  As for me, I don't care

where it's been, or what bitter road

  it's traveled

to come so far, to taste so good."

*****

Each day, I try to remind myself that there's a finite amount of time allotted to grief, to sadness, to pain.  At some point--and it's different for everyone--the window opens, the dull air is replaced by fresh breezes, and what was once all you could see becomes memory.  The landscape of tragedy is replaced by the blank canvas of possibility upon which all manner of dreams can become reality. 

I don't mean to suggest these coming dreams are always pleasant.  They are often, in fact, more painful to bring to life than we could have imagined when we first conjured them, our twitching lids sleep-painting them, our own nocturnal and cerebral Lascaux.  Far easier to sit swirling in what Dunn calls 'its dark source'; living in bitterness means not ever having to try something new, not ever having to force change, not ever having to be an advocate for yourself, allowing others to dictate not only who and what you are but also who and what you can be.

Today, talking to three of the brightest people I know about Linda Loman (Death of a Salesman) and--tangentially--whether or not anyone can actually have a personal definition of self or if self is always defined by others, it occurred to me that I cling to my own definition of self so intently because I have never liked the definition of myself that I have been given by others.  Which means I have never liked my read on what I believe others' definition of me to be, but in that room, talking with those three people, I realized that my self as refracted/reflected through them is actually exactly the version I have always hoped to be. 


One of them, youthful and exuberant and full of the energy of just beginning to see how powerful one person can be in the world, is a reminder of that same spirit in me--the part of me that hopes every day for a little miracle to occur in the lives of those around me so I may be lucky enough to share in it.  


Another represents a loyalty to friends I admire and seek to emulate at every turn; his passion and desire to serve and support, love and listen, is as beautiful as it is painful in that I suspect there are days when he does not say all he wants to, holding himself back so his views don't detract from what his friends need to discover for themselves.  


And the third practices patience in the same methodical and focused way master violinists practice bow techniques.  The long strides of his calm barely stress the taut strings at all, the rosin of resolve and reserve pepper his collar as he waits and listens, offering his full attention to the person at hand in a way that never makes the object of his gaze wonder if he is with her because, in fact, he always is.  He is a lighthouse, and I am eternally undeserving and grateful.

These three people, today, helped me see that though the road until now may have been paved with bitter visions from the past, I am now at place where those surrounding me are purveyors and perpetrators of beauty and their presence in my life has made the travel so much sweeter.