Lovis Corinth: Self-Portrait with Skeleton (1896)

"Grace visits just before such exits."

I never rise more enthusiastically than on those mornings I'm going away. My imminent absence tends to prize out my most prominent presence. I might dawdle every other morning, but these mornings, I'm focused, for I will soon be gone and unable to water the yard, incapable of performing even the least of my usual maintenance. The cats sense that something's up, and they're there fawning for an early breakfast, feigning indifference. I sense that they understand my importance to their existence, and they might doubt my dedication when they watch my taillights disappear a little too early some mornings. They know if only because we've left a window open that we will not be back to feed them supper or to provide that odd lap on-demand later.

I might rail about the need to get away for a couple of days, but I faunch at the prospect. I'd rather smother in place than risk undermining all we have in place here. I'm painfully aware of the delicacy of the balance, of how everything continues as if it will never end until one day it's different and never the same again. I want it to remain the same again, and I hold concerns that even my brief absence might become the excuse for this existence's never quite recovering. I feel almost jealous of myself for the life we have in place, even with all of its everyday shortcomings. It never seems more perfect than on a morning when I'm fixing to abandon it. Every one of these fine final moments seems perfectly rendered, exquisitely formed.

For years, I earned my living by being absent. Every Sunday afternoon or early Monday morning, I'd be heading for the airport, rarely returning before well after dark the following Friday. I'd inhabit my life for two short days, during which time I'd try to satisfy seven full days of obligation before turning around to leave again the following Monday morning. I'd be gone well before dawn but never return until long after sundown. That delicate imbalance eventually broke down on an inevitable misunderstanding that life as a Goner must bring. I became a loner then, still often a Goner, but without the well-established lifestyle to return to. I took up loneliness as my profession until The Muse and I found each other and started to create another world, the one I'm fixing to abandon this morning.

My life, perhaps like yours, has evolved from mere notions and fortunate accidents; a few lamentable accidents, too, but you know what I'm alluding to. Dreams come true primarily via unintended proposals and consequences. The whole fabric of a life was never woven from more than odd threads. The notion that we design our existence must surely qualify as a delusion. We accept what we receive, unworthy as we've always been, then set about stewarding the mess. It's rarely what anyone expected. I've settled for this life, however idyllic it might seem. It might as well seem perfect since it's all I have. My impending absence, even one as seemingly trivial as an overnight to the other side of the state, still seems like a little death, a first-degree dismemberment. I sense the distance before I'm gone. I feel the disconnection before I leave. I compulsively water what we've inherited here, even though we've asked our reliable friend to stand in feeding cats and watering plants. Trusting becomes incredibly challenging in the truster's absence.

Home never seems more present than when it's slipping away. Gone never seems more permanent than just before I leave. I have spent far too much of my life away, absent without actual leave, under the delusion that I could somehow make my living when gone. I might have never been quite courageous enough to pull it off in place. I probably needed some spacing in between my presence to find useful meaning. I envy those who never managed to escape, whose hometown never let them loose to roam and founder on their own. The Goner's life leaves little to savor except the abiding sense that nothing will ever be any different than it is before one day when it's different forever after. Grace visits just before such exits.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Grace, #PureSchmaltz