Climbing Stairs

Saturday Summary

Today’s summary comes from the Windy City! I’m here for the weekend, taking in the sights and finding some much needed moments to breathe. Life is a constant whirlwind of one obligation after another; so taking this weekend is as much to reset as it is to remind myself why I’m doing what I do. It’s easy for me to wrap myself around my day to day expectations, with little thought into why I’m doing what I do. Sometimes my lofty goals seem so far off that the drudgery of Dental World coupled with the focus and intent that this Writing Life requires makes me feel scattered.

Along with doors and windows, I’ve long used stairs as a metaphor in much of my writing. Like arched windows and sturdy doors, stairs generally seem to suggest progression. They remind me of mobility, that life is fluid, and that one can choose to go up or down. I have countless poems about stairs, and in my fiction work, characters always seem to find themselves maneuvering them as they approach life-altering decisions. As I’m sitting at a street-side café, listening to Logic and having an iced hibiscus tea, I can’t stop thinking about stairs.

I’ve been to Chicago a number of times, and always come away with a new sense of self. This trip is reminding me so much of visiting some years back with Ghost when he was thirteen and I was fifteen. It was right before the shit hit the fan, so the trip is symbolically attached to a certain period of my life that I’ll never be able to replicate.

On Friday morning, I set out for a run, not really sure where I was heading. Chicago is laid out on a grid, I have a good sense of direction and figured I’d run until I was tired and turn back. I was a few miles into my run when I saw a structure that pulled on something so deep inside of me. The familiarity of the building was immediate, but I couldn’t quite place it. As I got closer, I found myself staring at this set of stairs.

Over the years, I’ve moved more times than I can count. There was a period of time when I was moving every six months or so, and so I stopped unpacking after a while. In all of the moves, the countless apartments that led to repeated life-overhauls and upheaval, I’ve managed to hang on to few tangible items. One of my most treasured possessions is a photo of me and Ghost sitting on these stairs. I have returned to the photo I have more times than I can count; as much because it was a hell of a trip as because it captures something that’s gone – not just in terms of sense of self, but an innocence that was left when life started to splinter. From the photo, I gather strength, courage and determination to keep on moving.

It’s easy to be hard on myself; to bitch and complain that I’m not further and farther along. I set high expectations for myself which isn’t a bad thing. But it also can breed a certain sense of deficiency, of never being content in the moment. Seeing these stairs reminded me just how far I’ve come. I don’t need to add a caveat to that statement (… and how far I have to go) because I live that passion every single today. This weekend, I’m going to be okay with being pleased with myself. This isn’t being arrogant; this is accepting I have made some significant strides. Move up or move down. Just keep moving.