Dearest Rachel –
It’s axiomatic that, somewhere along the line, every analogy breaks down at some point; the trick is to try and figure out where that breakdown point is. And while I don’t know where that point is on this particular topic, it’s entirely possible I’ll be able to figure it out as I talk my way through this with you. At least, I hope so, as I think it matters.
You’re probably familiar with it, too, especially given your upbringing in an academically artistic environment (despite it not being either of your parents’ specialty); the idea that we are like clay in the hands of the Potter, being shaped and designed by our circumstances for a certain purpose that He has, presumably set out for us. We may or may not begin as a complete tabula rasa (is this where the analogy breaks down already?), since all of us supposedly start out with a conscience (even if it is as rudimentary as our motor skills) from day one, but the life lessons we receive – through either instruction or experience – change and shape us into the vessels we are hopefully meant to be.
Of course, a vessel made of wet, malleable clay is of no use to a potter – or anyone he makes his works for – until it has been fired (and glazed, but let’s set that aside for the moment). Once it has been, it is set in place, and is then ready for its intended purpose. However, if circumstances attempt to alter it at this point, it no longer has any “give” to it; it cannot be changed. It either does not react at all to the influence, or it breaks into pieces. Either way, it will be of less use for the new purpose, or of no use at all.
The problem is, life is full of constant change, even as we try to allow ourselves to ‘set’ in position. Just when we think we have found our niche and purpose in life, and lock in our form so as to fill that supposed role (or collection of roles), circumstances change, and we have to adapt to be serviceable for a whole new series of roles. The trouble is, at a certain point, we are no longer as plastic in personality or ability so as to change with the moment thrust upon us. We’ve gotten comfortable with the form we’ve been in for so long, and have been baked into a certain shape that is difficult – if not outright impossible – to remold.
So it’s been with my life, honey. My education trained me for a certain profession, one that I grew to hate after too many conflicts with my superior, but which I eventually found peace with as I could rechannel it elsewhere. Here at home, I adapted to a certain lifestyle, and couldn’t imagine changing much about it (although there were some things I thought I might do if allowed to).
And then you left, and so much changed around me in your absence.
Oh, I went about many of the same routines I used to, honey; checking in at the ‘office,’ taking care of many of the same tasks that I had in the days prior to your departure, since they still needed to get done. But it was more to distract myself from having to confront the fact that I would need to make changes to my life in your absence.
I always assumed that Megumi would waltz into my life at some point, and insist on changing, if not everything, at least enough as to be uncomfortable; testing whether the terra cotta I was made of was at all still malleable, so as to fit her lifestyle. But it slowly dawned on me that she was not about to make the first move, or even announce herself. To that end – and to attract her to me in the first place – I made an effort to change myself before she even deigned to make her presence (or even existence) known to me, as a proof of concept; can I even change at all at this point?
Granted, it wasn’t all me initiating the change. My folks encouraged me to seek out people to help me get the house clean – particularly since that would be necessary to accomplish the renovations you and I talked about, but acknowledged we could never start until we took the first start. From there, Jan tore through the house, and all our (mostly yours, of course) stuff, while also nudging me toward the online dating world (look, it hasn’t panned out, no, but it’s been an education); since then, Kris has helped us keep things clean going forward, while extending an ear toward Daniel. Meanwhile, Lars has filled a piece of the companionship void left by you (and, to a lesser extent, the slowly-drifting-apart friend circle you bequeathed me; we’re trying to hold it together, but it’s harder than any of us thought it might be, especially given the new “all-single” paradigm), but also served as a conscience on my weight-loss journey. It hasn’t been all me, any more than the results feel like “me.”
Which is the weird thing about what’s happened over the past four years, honey; I may not have known who, exactly, I was back then – if I had been pressed, I think that most of my identity lay in proximity to others. I was “Ralph’s boy,” “Daniel’s father,” “Rachel’s husband,” and by and large, I was fine with that. Theoretically, I’m still mostly those things – apart from having to substitute “widower” for “husband” – although as time goes by, and those that remember you continue to diminish, that last one has been slowly fading. But I still don’t know if I have a separate identity, or what it might be.
If I have been remolded by the events of the past few years, I can’t imagine what I’ve been remolded into, as you’d be hard-pressed to mold fired clay. I don’t know if you can even stick clay to the original vessel, and re-fire it to attach them and make something different out of it. But that’s where I think I am at this point. Will this be anything useful? Will this appeal to some Megumi out there? I wish I knew.
For now, all I can ask is that you keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 