The State of Me: Update: Sorry It's Been So Long

Though I'm not quite back to work yet myself, it would not be premature to say that the vacation is over. January is traditionally a period of want after the extravagance of the Holidays, and by me the tradition is honored to a tee. This is a month to count centiemes and celebrate - albeit in a rather Spartan sort of celebration - the days when you can get by on very little.  It distresses me slightly to think of my poverty at the beginning of 2009, and to reflect on how short a distance I seem to have come in a year. Of course, I had a lot to celebrate at the beginning of 2009, and I have a lot to celebrate again this year. And, if it's not incredibly indelicate to say so - I am not really, REALLY poor, after all; not compared to far too many - there is something kind of life-affirming about being down to your last pennies. You are more engaged in your vie quotidienne, you pay more attention, you make do with less, and for the days when you can get by on very little, your thriftiness alone confers a sense of accomplishment that few other accomplishments could match - apart from, perhaps, that of making enough and living within your means, but what would I know of such things? This January, I will avoid the months of debt into which I entered last year, and that will be good enough for me. I will not borrow as heavily from future Jon, who will be even older, more cantankerous, less able, and less disposed to foot the bill for his free-wheeling counterpart, yours truly. Well, the time has come to end a brief rhapsody about poverty.

I walked Rebecca to work today, and told her that I could spend another fifteen or so days of nonstop hanging out with her. As I told her, she makes me want to be better than I am, and I feel that I succeed often enough to stave off my discouragement at my own shortcomings. In point of fact, I actually do the dishes when I'm with her. I surprise myself when I see other peoples' dirty dishes and I think things like
"Why did he leave that? That's EASY to wash! Dare I say, it's almost FUN to wash! I might do it right now, just to keep a hand in it!"
Still, one must be charitable and remind oneself that he or she is only a few months removed from his or her own more, um, relaxed attitude about cleaning (in fact; a few miles removed, for I am not as conscientious about the washing-up chez moi). Still, my little successes in life make me feel happy and useful. I don't think it's just the usual phenomenon of being on your best behavior in a new relationship, either, for two reasons:

1) My facade has worn clean through in other areas, and she has seen some of my old chinks-in-the-armor (notably, my insecurity, but then again doesn't everybody...?).

2) I get a real pleasure from thinking of her while doing things for her, and such pleasures can be addicting.

3) I know I promised two, but it is also important to note that Rebecca is an excellent cook. Saying that, I feel like I haven't really explained the depth of it. One gets the impression that cooking, for her, is an artistic outlet, and she takes to it with a creativity and dexterity that makes me simultaneously despair at my own lack of facility in the kitchen and revel in my circumstances. So, really, it's only right that I should do the dishes.

So, today I walked Rebecca to work, and then I installed my headphones snugly in my ears and drew my scarf tightly against what - at within a few degrees (give or take) of freezing -  strikes a resolute Floridian as bitter cold. I retraced my steps, taking in the morning and taking stock of the 'state of me'. I am a few days removed from the first decade of the second millennium, depending on who you ask. Already, OK Computer hits me with much more whimsy and much less claustrophobia than when I first heard it. I don't know what to make of that; perhaps things were even worse early in the millennium than we could have thought when Radiohead released their "millennial" album in 1997, and the alienation that they evoked lo! those many years ago falls flat on the ears of a hardened graybeard like myself, who has seen too much.  

On the other hand, maybe the pre-millennial angst proved somewhat unfounded. The cynic in me is repulsed by that interpretation, but the idealist is smiling indulgently at the cynic: Here I am, after all. I have made it to 2010, none the worse, and quite a bit the better, actually, for it. We still have racism and political parties and poverty; I hope that I can be part of mitigating the effects of these cancers in my lifetime. However, I am also living proof that theaters still mount beautiful productions of Swan Lake long after Tchaikovsky left this world; more on that later. I felt a great flutter in my chest this morning as I walked, with no obvious proximate cause other than the brief sight of a small, elegant tree in the tidy courtyard of a home. I am pleased to find that in 2010, my heart can still break for joy at the slightest provocation, and I resolve to waste less time this year than I did last year.

Also, I will try to keep up with this blog much better than I have in the past.

Happy New Year!

(Soon to come, a series on my travels during the vacation!)