Story Arc

Dearest Rachel –

It would amuse me no end for some theorist channel to happen across this sheaf of letters, read a whole bunch of them over your shoulder, and try to make sense out of them as if they were the components of an ARG or an extended literary work. Applying the tropes of media to my stories to you of various aspects of life since your departure (or crazier yet, trying to make sense of my dreams!) to establish some sort of overall narrative would be a Sisyphean endeavor, but if anyone were to take a crack at it, I’d more than welcome it. If some outside eyes could make a coherent story out of these daily episodes that I’m missing due to being too close to the subject matter, I’d appreciate it, even as I might laugh at the futility of their attempts.

That being said, there are moments when it seems that life actually does follow a pattern for a while. It works very much like a story arc, where a single topic dominates or undergirds the whole series of events transpiring in a given period of time before disappearing from the picture. Travels are like that, as they generally last for but a week or two, but they frame every moment that happens while abroad; even dreams might be expected to tinted a bit by taking place in a strange room. Likewise, various projects, such as cleaning out the house and the various remodeling work (although the latter was left to the professionals, we had to live within it for an extended period of time). Neither of them were to last forever, even as if felt as if they would whilst in the middle of them, and they were the hub around which life revolved while they were going on.

So, too, this week, and our struggles with this unknown illness (which, while Daniel and I may call it a cold, had each of us dealing with symptoms that suggested that it may as easily have been a bout of Covid. Without getting tested specifically for it, however, there’s no real telling. For all intents and purposes, there’s really no difference between the two these days, whether in symptoms or severity). What’s funny about it is its rise on Monday, cresting in the middle of the week, and reaching something of a dénouement by today. Apart from being a bit muddle-headed, I’m really pretty much over it; however, out of an “abundance of caution,” I’m still staying away from the ‘office’ yet again. With any luck, by tomorrow it will be as if nothing had happened, and we’ll all be back to a form of status quo ante, just like in some kind of serialized work of fiction.

Much as it feels like a piece of media, though, I suppose that’s kind of the point. Things rise and fall in importance throughout life, like ripples in a pond when a stone is tossed in. The larger the stone, the more and longer-lasting the ripples. Some stones are large enough (or the pond is shallow enough in the place where they land) that they can be seen poking out of the water after they splash down, eternally generating waves as the water flows around them thereafter. Such might be the remodeling, where the controlled chaos of the work being done gives way to a new layout to a room that eventually feels so natural as to no longer elicit comment, but it’s nothing like the place as you left it looking like.

And then, there’s your departure itself, an island emerging suddenly, volcanically from beneath the waters, changing the entire seascape of my life. None of these letters would exist, for example, if that hadn’t happened; we would just be talking about things as they happened and never think to write them down for posterity. The story would happen in the moment, and then pass, like those ephemeral ripples that we’re all aware of but never pay much attention to. Suddenly, however, there’s little left to do but stare at the ripples, and watch them expand outward, sometimes playing against each other as they reflect off of one rock or another.

At the moment, the ripples are starting to fade from this particular situation. While I continue to isolate and take it easy – even Lars has suggested I not push myself by meeting him for a walk this week, despite the fact that I think I could manage it today – things are getting back to what passes for normal these days. The waters at the edge of this island I now call home are calm, even as I look around for the next stone to chuck into them to create ripples that I can describe to you tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

But that can wait until then, I suppose. For now, watch over Daniel and me as we rest one more day, and wish us luck. We’re going to need it.