Finding one's space
Today I rode the 1 train downtown and tried to read Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go. There was a stop at Times Square, upon which virtually everyone in my train car got off, and it allowed me to move one space down away from a gentleman seated to my left.
Since I was having a bit of difficulty getting through Mr. Ishiguro's novel, I stopped reading and looked around me. I realized how ridiculous my action was. I moved over a seat to allow myself some leg room. By 34th Street, the very next station, more passengers would embark our car and I would be faced with 15 people vying for the one seat inbetween myself and the gentleman from whom I just moved.
And I thought about Alexander in all this in my futile little move-over dance. How we, as parents, make choices for our kids to be independent in life, to find their own space, their own niche, in which they can ride to the end of their lives. Okay, maybe I was specifically worrying about what sort of vocational preparation I might be making for A.
Okay. I have stupid fears that say, "What if I die today? What will A do with himself? What will be my legacy?" I do not think this way often, but I engage in this ridiculous mind chatter so that I keep things real. Purposeful. Consistent. Fruitful.
What are we doing? Where are we going? Does everyone remember this blurb of mine when we lived in Westchester?
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose...