Wait

I never know whether to write first or work first but on days I work for myself, I think writing will work more for me more than anything. I think that learning to use language, the skill of selecting words closest to my experience, is one I developed out of necessity.

My Dad said the most perpetual experience he had in parenting me had to do with understanding how to accept and engage with the words : 

"You hurt my feelings."

It was close to all the language I had to describe the pain of seeing him and of him leaving every weekend. All I had to say to say I'd missed him but  often, all I could dispel was a violent, red cheeked temper tantrum. English- my given and chosen pen- can only do so much. Also true: limitations are freeing. 

My father, who is  VERY intelligent but governed almost exclusively by his left brain, did his very best to understand, to accept, and to coach- but because I (somehow his spawn) am governed almost exclusively by my right brain, it didn't work. I was innately obstinate toward almost everybody, especially men, and, for a time, especially him. My father eventually learned that the most productive way to respond to my four words, was to not do very much at all. 

I think he understood that most of the panic and fever came from my only having four words. Four words that could not say what I needed him to understand. It was only when I understood that he was waiting for me - that I began to be able find them. 

Another man, a teacher of mine and magnanimous human being named Jeffery Crockett, has devoted his expertise to somatic breath work. His work draws the essence of a person back to themselves and, one of the first and most profound practices for me, was engaging with another via eye contact and inviting a quality of waiting... not for the bus... or a flight...or someone to call you back... waiting, like my father did. 

There's a section in the my favorite play:

The Zoo Story by Edward Albee

"The beast was there... looking at me. And, you know he looked better for his scrape with the never mind. I stopped; I looked at him; he looked at me. I think... I think we stayed a long time that way... still, stone statue... just looking at one another. I looked more into his face than he looked into mine. I mean, I can concentrate longer at looking into a dogs face than a dog can concentrate at looking into mine, or into anybody else's face, for that matter. But during that twenty seconds or two hours that we looked into eachother's face, we made contact. Now, here is what I had wanted to happen: I loved the dog now, and I wanted him to love me. I had tried to love, and I had tried to kill, and both had been unsuccessful by themselves. I hoped... and I don't really know why I expected the dog to understand anything, much less my motivations... I hoped that the dog would understand. Now, here is what I had wanted to happen"

Until moments ago, I thought this phrase was Jerry (the character speaking) spring boarding into an explanation.

But the comma. 

Now (comma) HERE is what I had wanted to happen...

Jerry meets this dog every time he comes into his building and every time the dog attacks him. First, he tries to bribe the dog  with hamburgers and when that doesn't work he tries to kill the dog by poisoning them. The dog almost dies but doesn't and sees Jerry for the first time since the attempt on his life and THIS is the moment they have together. My argument is that this, now, is all he ever really wanted... to look at one another, and wait.