You're nearby. We've been friends and co-workers for years. We're interested in each other's projects. You renewed contact recently with a card after an extended lapse, inquiring about a mutual acquaintance (about whom I don't have any current info.) So why am I delaying my reply?
It's absurd, and ever more so as time passes. I find myself deeper and deeper in the rut of reluctance.
What, my friend, is my problem?
Have we fallen out? No, not at all.
Have our interests diverged? Uh,uh.
Would we have a good time if we arranged to meet, perhaps somewhere in Harvard Square? Certainly.
So why don't I reply to your query?
Oh, the lunch hours we used to sit out on the lawn in the park. Before that, in the middle of winter, when the park was still under construction and off limits, we transgressed and played on the slides and the climbing toys. We talked about Jung, and movies, and relationships, about politics, music, work (just a little) and life. You always had a point of view a little slant of mine. You and I were perhaps the only people we knew who would go, separately, see a movie about a silent Cistercian monastery in central France, and love it. I remember you were becoming more and more passionate about solitude, about silence.
You seemed to me so cosmopolitan; your evaluative senses so sensitive and articulate. I feel I'm none of these. I felt somewhat provincial and uncritical. At one point you offered to help, but I wasn't ready to accept. Perhaps I'm still not. My various projects, of which this is the most recent, may have seemed to you interminable, and I somewhat feckless.You weren't the first to feel this way.
You're in school now studying to to be a therapist. I'm not up to anything as defined.
You were also so generous; perhaps I feel like I have an outstanding debt I can't pay.
Still none of this add's up a cogent reason from my dilatoriness. Maybe I'm just lazy; maybe I'm waiting for something special to say; maybe I don't know where our relationship will go. Maybe I'm not sure I'm interesting any more.
It would be fun to see you. I do want to hear how your studies are going, and I have things to share too.I'd like to hear some of your jokes again, and your special take on things.
So what am I waiting for? Act now. But I feel flat out; do I really have time for any new or renewed relationships? Of course, I do. Well, then, maybe you who are too busy.
Do you see just how silly I am? Enough. I'm getting in touch with you tomorrow.
It's absurd, and ever more so as time passes. I find myself deeper and deeper in the rut of reluctance.
What, my friend, is my problem?
Have we fallen out? No, not at all.
Have our interests diverged? Uh,uh.
Would we have a good time if we arranged to meet, perhaps somewhere in Harvard Square? Certainly.
So why don't I reply to your query?
Oh, the lunch hours we used to sit out on the lawn in the park. Before that, in the middle of winter, when the park was still under construction and off limits, we transgressed and played on the slides and the climbing toys. We talked about Jung, and movies, and relationships, about politics, music, work (just a little) and life. You always had a point of view a little slant of mine. You and I were perhaps the only people we knew who would go, separately, see a movie about a silent Cistercian monastery in central France, and love it. I remember you were becoming more and more passionate about solitude, about silence.
You seemed to me so cosmopolitan; your evaluative senses so sensitive and articulate. I feel I'm none of these. I felt somewhat provincial and uncritical. At one point you offered to help, but I wasn't ready to accept. Perhaps I'm still not. My various projects, of which this is the most recent, may have seemed to you interminable, and I somewhat feckless.You weren't the first to feel this way.
You're in school now studying to to be a therapist. I'm not up to anything as defined.
You were also so generous; perhaps I feel like I have an outstanding debt I can't pay.
Still none of this add's up a cogent reason from my dilatoriness. Maybe I'm just lazy; maybe I'm waiting for something special to say; maybe I don't know where our relationship will go. Maybe I'm not sure I'm interesting any more.
It would be fun to see you. I do want to hear how your studies are going, and I have things to share too.I'd like to hear some of your jokes again, and your special take on things.
So what am I waiting for? Act now. But I feel flat out; do I really have time for any new or renewed relationships? Of course, I do. Well, then, maybe you who are too busy.
Do you see just how silly I am? Enough. I'm getting in touch with you tomorrow.
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