A little after midnight I stuff the last piece of ski gear into my overnight bag. While I didn’t ski in Minnesota, I had, over time bought waterpoof snow pants, down jackets, gloves and hats. I set my luggage on the floor and wonder if Town and Country really had friends in from out of town. Gross. Why do I even care?
In many ways I am relieved to go on a ski trip despite lacking hand-eye-on-a-slippery-mountain-coordination. Life is interesting that way. My faith is so challenged right now and luckily God (under Durga’s influence no doubt) had a plan in place to ensure I wouldn't be alone, riding out this emotional low. Which is very good, because I have found Manhattan unforgiving when I am sad, lonely or depressed.
I really should crawl into bed, but I am so tired I worry sleep won’t find me. And it may be worse if it does find me. When I get this unsettled with everything, everything, everything bouncing around in my head --- work, Town and Country, my family, the hope that I don’t break my neck in Killington --- my subconscious manifests in dark, heavy dreams that leave me fearing my own thoughts.
Was her destiny to be more than this? Did I misstep and thwart her life as a surgeon? Did Mr. Right or Mr. Right Enough come along and I denied her a life as married with two kids, living in Rye, driving a Volvo, walking a dog she barely likes, and serving rotis to a balding, paunchy man? Would she be proud of how she turned out? Am I? Or did I miss chance, and let that little baby down?