You Don't Ever Stop.

Hello. How are you?

Just before I sat down to write this blog entry, I read a friend's blog. She had written, word for word, the sentiment that had inspired my day-by-day survival a couple of years ago. None of us are so very far away from one another, I think, even in the times that it feels like we are miles apart.

I think I've told this story before, but I'm going to tell it again. I actually really like it. A long time ago, I wrote a fictional letter inspired by a non-fictional event. It was supposed to be from one ex-lover to another who had long since parted ways and not spoken for some time. The writer did not know if the intended recipient would ever read it, or if it would have any impact, but it didn't matter. The point was the writing of it.

Privately, though perhaps transparently, it contained my every hope for my own, real life, future.

I was taught through careful eavesdropping that an artist ought to write what they know. So, I poured all of my own hopes and dreams into this creation, first imagining a place where the moon shone, the evening fire was warm and everything in my life was under my control. And then, my imagination complete, I put fingertips to keyboard and started typing.

It began:

~~~

My Beloved,

I hope you are well.

I wish there was a way to stress those words, but I must confess I cannot italicize my written word without making it utterly illegible. Of course, in and of itself, merely altering the text would not – just as putting it first and foremost does not – properly include the importance of the expression. It contains more of my heart than any other thing that you will hereafter endure.

~~~

The letter went on, but its beginning, flowing quickly and easily from my mind, taught me something about myself that I have yet to forget.

I suppose, on this traditional Turkey Day, I should be thankful for all the traditional things. I should be thankful for my family and friends, as well as my health and having the good fortune to live in a country where my health has not bankrupt me or the above mentioned family and friends. I should be thankful for all of the things I've survived through in the past. I should be thankful for all of the things that I have the potential to experience in the future.

But I think that the Old Testament God had things a little confused. I'm not sure we can truly praise that which we fear. Because, in truth, I'm more afraid of these things than thankful for them. Since my heart has been fixed, all I can think of is how much I fear my body breaking down slowly, over the next 70-80 years. I have had friends support me, and all I continually feel faced with is the inevitable, temporary nature and impotence of friends. I live where fortune smiles, and I am reminded that everywhere else it does not, and I'm much too big a coward to do anything about that.

So I can't bring myself to expound upon the virtues of my traditionally thankful topics. The clichés only sound like clichés this year. Honestly, I can feel the sneer creep up my throat as I try to utter them.

But I do hope you're well.

That's what it's all about, isn't it? No matter what we put in between "hello" and "goodbye" to try to express ourselves, doesn't it amount to our longing for the best? Most of the time we ask the standard question - how are you? - dismiss it quickly, and then get into the nitty gritty details of our coffee gossip. But there is a hidden gem there that the evolution of our language has hidden. Much like "bitch" once legitimately meant female dog instead of vindictive woman, "how are you?" once was a legitimate inquiry into the emotional and physical state of another individual, instead of a colloquial greeting.

Since writing that fictional non-fiction, I have come to appreciate the meaning of the saying "I hope you are well." It has a texture, and it has a taste. It's slightly different and unique every time. And in all my texting, and emailing, and talking, it's the one phrase that I always hear my heart chiming in on, and the harmony sounds beautiful. When I put it in question form, I've never been afraid that I might get a real answer. I can be thankful for that.

That doesn't mean I'll always get a real answer, of course. Sometimes I over-play my desire to be a "knight in shining armour" and ask too much. Sometimes people don't want to share. And sometimes I couldn't care less, so I don't ask. No one's perfect.

But when I say it, I mean it. Everything I am is put into it, and time stops while I write/ask/type/text/speak it. We could spend all day there, if you'd like.

It won't disappear once it hits the air. It won't scab or scare. And it certainly won't be lost underneath any other mountain of words or feelings, even if it is sometimes buried. It will not stop.

Hello. How are you?

Happy Thanksgiving,
- Z