I’m Giving You a Free Pass (and a side of wild patience)
— I’m giving you a free pass on everything I also need a free pass on. For example. When we’re friends IRL but you never comment on or acknowledge anything I do online. I give you a free pass because I know the algo is horseshit. I know you want to be invisible sometimes. I know that you’ve seen my stuff to death. I’m giving you a free pass on staying home when it’s cold out and dark. I’m giving you a free pass on saying awkward things and things you don’t mean to say that just pop out of your mouth. I’m giving you a free pass on the French exit, the Irish exit, the Canadian exit. I’m giving you a free pass on forgetting to bring a hostess gift. I’m giving you a free pass on not wanting to do anything that costs money because who has that lying around? I’m giving you a free pass on getting back to me within a week or two and then burying my email and even accidentally deleting it because that can bloody happen. I’m giving you a free pass on cancelling almost last minute because your dog feels poorly. Or your cat. Or bird. I’m giving you a free pass when you didn’t say that thing perfectly in a tricky moment. I’m giving you a free pass on not ever using the phone. Free pass for missing the deadline by a day. Or two. I’m giving you a free pass if you need to vanish off the face of the earth for a bit. You get a free pass for being numb or nonplussed or dumbfounded or agog or unnerved or bewildered or discomposed. Not to mention flabbergasted, anxious, paralyzed. I’m giving you a free pass for any weird and silly and mildly oblivious thing you do. Because I do them too. And I’m giving you a free pass because I know you’re a decent person, maybe struggling, maybe exhausted, maybe put upon, or beleaguered, and because I know we’re all trying our bloody very best to keep our heads above water. I’m giving you a free pass because your heart has been through it, your soul has been harshed upon, and you still contain tenderness and joy and compassion and you still want to be delighted and feel dreamy and because you still are thinking all the hard thoughts and trying to figure this messed up world out and make it a better place. I’m giving you all my good wishes and feelings because I know you have them too in spite of everything and that, my friend, is a blessed miracle wow. So if you walk by me without acknowledging me, muttering and trying to regulate your breathing (a sometime self-portrait btw), free fucking pass, you know? You are still in the upright position and that is magnificent.
— A book which has been on my shelves forever is A Wild Patience Has Take Me This Far by Adrienne Rich. I’ve culled my books a number of times but this one remains. However, I hadn’t taken it off the shelf for ages. Lately I’ve been saying in my head a lot, I don’t really think I have the wild patience for this. But then I laugh and do the thing anyway. You know? Anyway the book’s title is the first line of a poem titled “Integrity.” In it she speaks of her selves being both “anger and tenderness.” She speaks of how the light is both critical and critical. In another poem she says, “If you can read and understand this poem / send something back…” I’ve always loved her poem “What Kind of Times Are These.”
— Have you just sat there and thought, what do I truly want? World peace, obv. But also, I think, I just want to hang out with people who get my literary jokes. I want meaningful work. I want to write, and to photograph. I want my kid to be happy and fulfilled. I want a wild patience but would accept a mild patience. You know, etc.
— Another interesting list thing I’ve been making mainly in head, is to think about what I used to have and do that is different from now. And what do I want back and what am I okay without bringing back? I used to read more, and I want that back. So much is different now and it’s hard even to remember sometimes all the little good things.
— One of the things that I’ve become terrible at is remembering who shared what. So if this was you thank you — I read a poem titled “How to be Happy in 100 Days” and I think it would be a great writing prompt, too. I like how when I first read it I expected a cozy-ish poem, but the poet, Tishani Doshi, takes us to a place where we’re knee deep in mud and waiting to be eaten by a tiger. As happens.
— I recently read an article by Adam Mastroianni that will confirm what you already know and probably mourn, that the world is getting less weird. You’ve heard my anti-GenAI rants no doubt so I’ll save you those. But I suppose for artists and writers this reaffirms a path. Get weirder.
— I repeat: Get weirder. Enjoy what you enjoy. We are so lightly here.
