The Order

People say a lot of things about PMS. For me, it is a very real and fairly consistent phenomenon that is best described as a monthly existential crisis. Typically, I'll watch a movie or a TV show and from it extract a meaning about the fragile and fleeting nature of human life, break into tears, and spend an evening talking/wondering-out-loud about how to really live a life. This happens almost every month. I blame it on my hormones and my major in philosophy.

This weekend, for Valentine's Day, SB was so sweet as to surprise me with chocolates, a book of Billy Collins poems, and "My Future Listography: All I Hope to Do in Lists" - a book that is essentially a notebook of list prompts. I LOVE to make lists.

Paging through the book one afternoon, I saw "List Who to Find in Heaven." I felt tears welling up. Then I got to the final list in the book - "List the Things You Hope to Experience Before You Die." I turned the page and saw that this list had 3 pages of lines to fill, compared to the 1 page every other list was given. It hit me hard. I could barely hold back the tears. When I told SB about the lists I finally cried. (oh dear.)

And then I started planning our Europe trip again. (oh dear again.) What can I say? The list book inspired me. I'm instinctually a "play it safe" person, but I aspire to a lot and sometimes I swing into action mode and seek a more adventurous and impulsive path. And hey, a Europe trip is the one item on our pre-children "to do" list, so now seems like as good a time as any. Perhaps there will be more to come re: travel plans...

Note that I actually really appreciate these mini-breakdowns, and am grateful for the perspective that they provide. My husband is a generous listener/conversationalist and my anchor, for which I am extremely grateful; and, as a result of these conversations, I end up feeling more deeply interwoven with him and excited about our shared future.

Below is a poem from my new Billy Collins collection that also struck a chord with me during this existential crisis weekend. It is a privilege to be able to take life for granted, and it is a gift not to.

The Order of the Day
Billy Collins

A morning after a week of rain 
and the sun shot down through the branches
and into the tall, bare windows.

The brindled cat rolled over on his back,
and I could hear you in the kitchen
grinding coffee beans into a powder.

Everything seemed especially vivid
because I knew we were all going to die,
first the cat, then you, then me,

then somewhat later the liquefied sun
was the order I was envisioning.
But then again, you never really know.

The cat had a fiercely healthy look,
his coat so bristling and electric
I wondered what you had been feeding him

and what you had been feeding me
as I turned a corner
and beheld you out on the sunny deck now

running in place—
knees lifted high, skin
glistening, and that toothy, immortal smile.