maybe there are different kinds of beginnings. there are the kind that you plan, that you anticipate, that you relish. when i arrived in paris to study for the semester, when i moved into my first apartment, when i met some of my best friends, those were all occasions that sent my tummy soaring. those were the beginnings that thrilled me.

then, there are the beginnings we face only because the ending came too quickly. breaking up with someone right as i felt like i was getting to know him, looking for another place to live because my landlord lost all grips of reality, having to do new work because the person in charge packed up her things and snuck out the back door, those hit me like bricks. i blinked and everything has already changed.

that's how i feel, i guess. i'm faced with this blinding possibility and endless space, and it is hard to know what to do with that. there are all these If's that taunt me, and most of the Then's that answer them are more bad than good.

i almost typed i can't help it, although i'm sure i could, if i really tried.

i think of my mother, who has become her mother, who can find worry in the smallest things. i hear my father reply to them with a you're-being-so-silly smile. my mother, the perpetual pessimist. my father, the eternal optimist. and me, stuck somewhere inbetween.

oh, what does it matter, anyway? if i focus too much on the before and after, i might miss the during.

right now, i am sitting in bed, wrapped up in the star-covered quilt my godmother made for me when i graduated college. i am listening to elliott smith. i am thinking of all the things i want to do this weekend. i am on the verge of a smile.

and thus wrote christine on 2/15/2002. +

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my year began with a few close friends, some atari games, a warm fire, and a few ounces of hot glug, (a stinging alcoholic beverage sipped from a mug). we drove around late into the frozen night, then headed north to boston to put a friend on a 7 am new year's flight back to los angeles. i fell into my bed mid-morning, the coffee buzz not strong enough to keep me going.

long time ago, that.

i'm sorry to hear that january gave you hard times, dear. january has never been a remarkable month, in my opinion. it marks a new beginning, in theory, but it seems like the new year never really gets going until sometime in early march. i've never been fond of february, but i'm not sorry to see last month go: for me, it was a busy month that went nowhere in particular, familiar friends and routines pivoted around a new kind of internal heartstring dance happening in my ribcage. i don't even know, yet, just how hard and lonely and vague-grey it can be to get close to a person, only to find yourself pushed farther away again. but january concluded with a few 65 degree sunny days (that's damn warm for around here, ahem), and working in the heat i remembered just how many great things i have to remember: ideas, colors, people, sounds, words, plans past and plans future. when i rediscover how easily i can be fearless, everything becomes okay. okay, until i forget again.

and even though it's usually an interminably dark month, i'm sure i can weave a whole new story into february. i'm nearly inside what will certainly be a damn important six weeks of my life. i've got a lot of work to finish, driving to do, and people to see.

does it scare you, not knowing what's around the bend? usually that excites me. i guess the best beginnings also mark happy endings. but it'll be hard to leave here, leave home.

and thus wrote ryan on 2/4/2002. +

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