Today’s that very special day in the Minnesota calendar when neighbors venture out of doors bearing checklists of all they want to do before the summer comes. We greet each other in the street and recount stories of the long winter we’ve just been through together and alone. We mark the height of tulip stems just peeking above the ground, and pull aside fall’s crusty leaves to expose the first, delicate blue snow drops to the welcome sun. It’s not that the weather is perfectly spring-like today or that we’ve haven’t already had a few sporadic better ones. It’s just that instinct tells us today’s the day that it’s okay to hope.
Today also marks the first anniversary of my retirement, the passing of the year in which friends cautioned me to do nothing more than feel the weight lift off my shoulders. They told me to register in my body and soul the absence of an obligation to ‘work,’ and nibble only incrementally at the edges of what’s next. Above all, they cautioned me to be forgiving and patient with myself.
And though I haven’t entirely followed their counsel, I’ve enjoyed this winter the extraordinary luxury of listening undisturbed to Minnesota’s falling snow beside a quiet fire as I quilt, and to the cacophony of randy birds beyond John’s San Francisco deck (spring comes far earlier there). I’ve reinstituted the glorious habit of lunching with long-neglected friends and I’ve reopened the space (and given myself permission) to read and play the piano, to nap and dream of who I want to be.
I’ve also, of course, enjoyed all the busy-ness and connection that go with the birthing of a book. Fan mail has arrived from strangers, and friends from various and random parts of my life have popped up at nearly all my readings. New friends have emerged, as well. I want to thank from the bottom of my heart every single person who has picked up my book and read it. I know my competition is measured in all of life’s other busy moments and the many wonderful writers on the shelf. You have humbled me by your attention, enthusiasm and delight. It has been a joy to share my story with you.
And so, this magic year’s gone by quickly, and I’m starting to take bigger bites of that question, ‘what’s a girl to do?’ The last time I had to ask myself was forty-some years ago, when I graduated from college with no idea of who I was or what I wanted. I like my chances better now. The opportunities are endless – companionship, and writing and peaceful contemplation will surely be involved, as will some investment in the community around me.
I’m not quite ready, yet, to let go this state of wonder and suspension that I feel; I am repelled by the political ugliness that swarms just outside my door; and sometimes, it’s hard to be optimistic about my aging body and mind. But I love the simple idea that propels me into spring: there is more to come.