Busy Is Good, Everyone Says

I had a weekend of work, mostly taking care of last minute details on the other condo, going through the storage bin (and more to do there). Stay busy, everyone says. Don't sit around a brood about your loss, everyone says. Busy is good, everyone says.

There is some truth to this suggestion. Busy prevents that endless pity party I'm prone to hosting. I don't worry as much about my future or my finances or whether I'll ever find someone I can truly care about.

But there's a downside. I don't think much about us, what we had, what we did and enjoyed and endured. I need to remember some of that, if not all of that. I need to think about him every day. I need to try to remember the early days and forget about those last, long, horrible days when he looked like someone else, someone less than alive and not yet gone. I need to forget that last image of that last night and remember when he could smile, when he smiled at me and I just wanted to melt. He could not smile in the end. I want to replace those memories by thinking of places and dinners and movies we shared. I want to remember the giddy joy of the first week together. When I'm busy, that doesn't happen.

There's a middle ground to pursue. Moderation in everything, as Franklin said. I need to get things done, but not be so busy that life becomes the empty blur it was before I met him, before he made me slow down, notice details, notice the small pleasures, enjoy life in small bites.

When we came together he did things he'd never of had time to do because I was there to plan and push and get him to the airport or into the car more or less on time. And I enjoyed it more once we got there because he made me look, and smell, and savor it all. We were good together in that way and now I have to seek balance on my own. He was a good teacher and I'm about to find out whether or not I was a decent student.