We spent a lovely New Year's Eve in downtown Melbourne with, what the media reported to be, about 500,000 other Melburnians enjoying free concerts, rides, and fireworks. Tramming (as always) down to Alexandra Park on the Yarra river, we cast our blanket and picnic down on a nice piece of grass and proceeded to eat, play, watch and wait for the fireworks show scheduled to begin at 9:15. We were not disappointed and enjoyed a tremendous show that exploded simultaneously on four floating barges in the middle of the Yarra. After the show, we and several thousand other people tried to make our way back over the St. Kilda bridge toward Fed Square - and that's where it got a little interesting. Because of the small space, ill-conceived barriers, and the sheer number of people we reached a sort of mass human gridlock and spent the next 30 minutes trying to move through a thick sea of swirling humanity. It was quite unnerving and if I wasn't having fun, it was much worse for the boys who were operating at 'bum level". Allie's tears actually helped to part the suddenly sympathetic crowd and thankfully we finally broke free into space making a beeline for the quieter Russell Street and a lucky cab ride home. It was mostly a wonderful night together with the boys, but those 30 minutes on the bridge, so quickly turned a fun celebration into a moment that gives one pause.
It's funny what you learn about yourself when placed in a new environment - like a crowded bridge or a new country. A slight tweek to time or place and suddenly you have the words or the perspective for something about yourself that remained a mystery to you before. Of course, friends and family will have always known this new information to be true and maybe somewhere, deep inside, you also would admit to knowing it was part of your psyche. But still, you need a catalyst or a lever with which to pry this knowledge out from under your subconscious and into the bright blue sky of a new reality.
I think age also has something to do with these kinds of revelations. There does seem to come a time, a time that was still impossible to comprehend mere moments before it actually arrives, when you are willing to see things differently because the "care factor" has ebbed away. You are no longer willing to protect some idealized sense of self or life that you are convinced may still be possible as long as you don't reveal too much or admit too many faults. It is perhaps a moment that comes after peering over the horizon to sneak a glimpse at the future and realizing you are closer to an end than a beginning.
For me, one such realization took place recently as a result of a certain blanket. Both boys have baby blankets, made lovingly for them by their Nanny Pat and carried with them since they were born. They are here with us in Australia. At least, they were. The other day we thought we had lost one on our recent Christmas holiday. Interestingly, the person who was most despondent about the loss was not so much Colin, but me. Now I know I have always had a habit of placing a lot of value on such things - call it a firm sense of nostalgia or some sort of bizarre Freudian attachment - but I was very sad that we had lost this blanket after having had it in our family for almost ten years. I almost felt like we had lost a member of the family. I looked everywhere - twice, called the Davies and the resort we were at but to no avail. Then, just as I was becoming resigned to the loss and rehearsing my speech to Colin about growing up and moving on, "Mackey" as he is affectionately known, appeared in Colin's closet. I was ecstatic. We all were. Life, as we knew it, returned to normal.
So what did this little moment reveal to me? In one of the earliest blogs I admitted to being a bit of a pack rat. I have always had trouble throwing out things that I have lived with and which have therefore become part of my life. I find value in the past and need the past around me and in my life to remind me of what I have done and who I am. Linton is different. She looks to the future. For example, she has had a lot of fun booking our travel plans and thinking about where we are going next because she is clearly focused on the future. She worries about where she is going, what is life's next great adventure, and how we are going to get there. They are complementary viewpoints in that I believe we remind each other of the need to look the other way now and again. This knowledge, about ourselves and each other just burbled to the surface the other day, at least, in a way that we could have never articulated mere moments before. It was the right moment or coming together of age and stage for such understanding to take place.
And so at a time of resolutions I would like to offer more of a revelation. Unlike the incident with Colin's blanket, I am quite happy to let go of the past at least with respect to something like the year 2008. I do, in fact, enjoy ringing in the new year. Looking forward to a fresh start and a new page, even if it's only as a result of some arbitrary day on an arbitrary calendar, is always rejuventating. I have more trouble letting go of the real and tangible things - often no more significant than a child's blanket, a favourite book, or and old sweater. For some reason, these things require a greater place in the museum of my memory and cannot be so dutifully sold, boxed or forgotten at the drop of a ball. And yet, what seemed to come flashing wildly into my head for a brief moment on that crowded, constricting bridge was that as I was celebrating the passing of the past and looking with Linton into the ever-promising future, the most important things in my life, needed me right there right then - in the present. And so to 2009 - carpe diem.
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