"Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter.
Sermons and soda water the day after."
Sermons and soda water the day after."
-- Percy Bysshe Shelley
Once I'm settled in Boston with high speed internet I'll finally put up posts with pictures from Rome. But for now, and after those mirthful posts, this blog will return to its original purpose: to ponder the profound aloneness of the human spirit and the despair of all mankind.
Just kidding! How can I be sad coming back from a great wedding? I've been to weddings weird and weddings dull, but every so often I get to be overwhelmed by a couple's perfection, and the throngs of their friends who seem to feel the same way.
Through the miracle of Google I found the email address of Betsy, the only other girl in high school who was as tall as me. I was fortunate to get back in touch with her just as she was planning her wedding, and even happier when she invited me to attend and to sing. I spent the reception collecting compliments (while reminding people that I was not supposed to the evening's center of attention!), chatting with people who might become new friends, and dancing like a goofball. (I must comment on one New York lawyer, a Punjabi metrosexual who danced like an exuberant and funky cartoon.)
Weddings can inspire two opposing emotions in me: sadness and joy. Sadness if I'm single and wondering if my own wedding will ever come to pass, and joy if I can finally forget my gripes and rejoice in the happiness of others. Soaked in wine and dance endorphins, I had a ball tonight.
Yet at the rehearsal dinner, where singles seemed to be an endangered species and wedding rings glistened on young fingers, I felt like an outsider. What haven't I figured out that they have? These are people my age who own property, are committed to their careers, and are starting families. Now that I'm going back to school and renting a room with 22-year-olds, I can't help but wonder if I'm missing the boat.
These couple of weeks in New York have been strange. Saying goodbye to old friends, promising to see each other soon but not quite knowing when and how. More upsettingly, I'm saying goodbye to people I've just started to become friends with, and putting miles of highway and the Chinatown bus in a budding friendship doesn't exactly encourage a future. I've also just this week been warned that Bostonians can be as cold as a Massachusetts winter, and perhaps the circle of friends I've imagined for myself up there might not happen so easily.
Ahi! So much to fret over! But I'll take the advice that I sang to Betsy and Bill today: rejoice in our joy, and let all the branches of the groves resonate with the sound of our joyful and breezy laughter. (or something like that, 17th century poetry doesn't translate well!)
I'm off to bed now with happily aching feet and a sense of dread for the work ahead (I'm moving tomorrow!), but with the memories of a night of dancing and smiles, promises of new adventures to make, and.... und ein klein wenig Verachtung. ;-0 (I'll let you read Thomas Mann's Tonio Kroger to understand that one.)
Just kidding! How can I be sad coming back from a great wedding? I've been to weddings weird and weddings dull, but every so often I get to be overwhelmed by a couple's perfection, and the throngs of their friends who seem to feel the same way.
Through the miracle of Google I found the email address of Betsy, the only other girl in high school who was as tall as me. I was fortunate to get back in touch with her just as she was planning her wedding, and even happier when she invited me to attend and to sing. I spent the reception collecting compliments (while reminding people that I was not supposed to the evening's center of attention!), chatting with people who might become new friends, and dancing like a goofball. (I must comment on one New York lawyer, a Punjabi metrosexual who danced like an exuberant and funky cartoon.)
Weddings can inspire two opposing emotions in me: sadness and joy. Sadness if I'm single and wondering if my own wedding will ever come to pass, and joy if I can finally forget my gripes and rejoice in the happiness of others. Soaked in wine and dance endorphins, I had a ball tonight.
Yet at the rehearsal dinner, where singles seemed to be an endangered species and wedding rings glistened on young fingers, I felt like an outsider. What haven't I figured out that they have? These are people my age who own property, are committed to their careers, and are starting families. Now that I'm going back to school and renting a room with 22-year-olds, I can't help but wonder if I'm missing the boat.
These couple of weeks in New York have been strange. Saying goodbye to old friends, promising to see each other soon but not quite knowing when and how. More upsettingly, I'm saying goodbye to people I've just started to become friends with, and putting miles of highway and the Chinatown bus in a budding friendship doesn't exactly encourage a future. I've also just this week been warned that Bostonians can be as cold as a Massachusetts winter, and perhaps the circle of friends I've imagined for myself up there might not happen so easily.
Ahi! So much to fret over! But I'll take the advice that I sang to Betsy and Bill today: rejoice in our joy, and let all the branches of the groves resonate with the sound of our joyful and breezy laughter. (or something like that, 17th century poetry doesn't translate well!)
I'm off to bed now with happily aching feet and a sense of dread for the work ahead (I'm moving tomorrow!), but with the memories of a night of dancing and smiles, promises of new adventures to make, and.... und ein klein wenig Verachtung. ;-0 (I'll let you read Thomas Mann's Tonio Kroger to understand that one.)
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