a million hours with a stranger

I was in Europe this summer for 2 months. My European friend here recommended that I go to her country, Belgium, and even to her city, Ghent. (City? Town? Standards are so different in Europe.) She even gave me a hookup: some friends who might be able to show me around town. They couldn't. But they gave me the email of another girl who was "into couchsurfing." (I don't think that's a euphemism for anything.)

We got beer--dark and rich Belgian beers--and had a nice chat before going to a Jazz club. We talked about music, and it seemed there were some points of convergence in our tastes: mostly Jazz and Blues.

Turns out, she was myopically passionate about African-inspired music, whether it be South African, Afro-Cuban, or African American. Me, I'm not into folk music per se but start to appreciate it more as it becomes more evolved, less visceral, more cerebral. Hence Jazz. Blues is not the most elevated of musical styles, and it certainly can wear out its welcome, but I think it's the sound, the Affect, that strikes a chord with me.

Somehow, I ended up in a car with this girl for several dozens of hours as we drove from Chicago to Memphis to New Orleans and finally to Austin. She was visiting the States, several months after we met in Belgium, came through Chicago and then wanted to explore the South. Somehow, I had never been. Really, the whole South, unexplored.

And the driving time gave us the time to explore our differences.

We started with music and moved on to life: she wanted kids with her boyfriend (a 48-year-old half Brazilian half Cameroon man living in Belgium, still living with his baby mamma) and projected that feeling on to every living being and possibly some inanimate objects as well. She's one of those women who would have children on her own if she had to. Which means that if she was preggers tomorrow and her man left her on Tuesday, she'd be just as happy raising the chilluns without him.

Having children was never really a goal of mine: more of an assumed eventuality. I somehow got over that feeling a couple of years ago. One would think we could just let our differences coexist, but I felt like I had to defend my lack of significant desire against her assumptions and projections.

I convinced her that it's a gender thing: men don't want children in the same visceral way that women do. In general. We may want progeny for a million other reasons, but we have reasons. The women who want little bundles of joy want them in the way that I want food when I'm hungry. I know this. I know that we all have our own path. But it took a lot of convincing for her to think like that.

And I think she just wanted to share her excitement with someone. Is that so wrong? I was not having it, and I feel a little bad, but I'm not about to fake it. So when she said that she had a couple weeks with her boyfriend in New York (before Chicago), I wasn't necessarily expecting: "I'm not going to drink very much...because I might be pregnant!" I should have just said, "That's great!" instead of "Oh. Really? First month off the pill?" That's not what people want to hear when they're excited about the possibility. At one point, frustrated by other things, I said something like: "Fine, get your hopes up." But really, what's the crime in that? I've learned not to get my hopes up (and I keep learning), but for her, she knows that, if she's not preggers now, she will be some day later. Mild disappointment assuaged by eternally springing hope.

And, deep down, secretly, maybe I didn't want her to be pregnant. It seemed like an unnecessary nuisance to deal with on the trip. (Such are children, albeit slightly necessary.) Also, maybe I was assessing her situation (never a good idea from the far outside of someone's situation) and judging this an inopportune time.

So, the big question--10,000 dollars--remains unanswered. She's back in Belgium; I'm back in Chicago. It's cold, and I'm hanging around the house trying to plot a course into the future (through conference with the past).

in pursuit of lost time

I'm almost at the end of a period of time that didn't exist. Like a blip on the radar, it came, saw, and conquered and is now on its way out the door. The holidays are a weird period of stasis that occur between moments of activity. And in those periods, I'm never sure how to be. They come around so rarely, and each one tainted by the real-life time that came before, that it's hard to practice. I almost always feel blind-sided and confused. Until it's over, and then it starts to make sense but it's too late.

Christmas is especially difficult for those of us who aren't really sure what we're celebrating. Christmas used to be full of magic and wonder, but now the soul seems to have been sucked out through the nose hole and there is only the shell of obligatory gift-giving and togetherness. Both of which are grand but there's ceasing to be anything really unique or particular about Christmas compared to other holidays.

I spent Christmas in France once where the traditions are much older and deeper, aided by the homogeneity of both religion and denomination. It started with Midnight Mass in which the people of a small village in Normandy willingly participated even though the majority were highly secularized and hardly religious. Then the family I was visiting (with all of its various extensions) returned to the farm house and got to the eating and drinking - la Réveillon.

What a great feast! For me, clearly, the mystique was in the novelty of the various oysters, foie gras, champagne (the real stuff), and other delicacies that I couldn't even name or remember. After midnight, we went to the Christmas Tree room and our shoes had been filled with gifts. Magic! Turns out, it wasn't really magic; while we were eating, Père Noël had done the deed.

This Christmas, going through the motions continues to feel more like routine than ritual. Having forgotten the "reason" for the season, I am still looking for a way to root myself, some tradition or belief that gives the holiday depth and purpose. As far as the routine goes, I did a decent job getting thoughtful presents, even planning ahead and using the hunter method of shopping--much less stressful than my usual meandering and gathering. For me learning to be a good shopper is to embrace my inner hunter--much more enjoyable, much better results, and then I can go home and drink the blood of my enemies.

And the echoes of the past seem louder and heavier this year than before. Maybe that's because I'm finally listening. So maybe soon I'll understand.

I'm in the burbs right now, headed back to the city to clean up and pack up the rest of my stuff. Then after a few days in the Chi-area, back to Michigan for the end of the week. My parents will be up there too, so it won't be quite the same as the last two weeks. Still good though. And then New Year's. I don't have any definite plans, so if you know of exciting things going on in the city, let me know. I'll also be in need of a place to stay that weekend: wink, wink.