As Close As We Get

Yesterday began with a walk, a spontaneous Sunday stroll with my buddy Carey and her rambunctious dog Ranger. The cattle had just been moved to a different grazing area, and we decided to simply climb uphill, taking advantage of cow paths and flattened grass, wary of holes and bumps in the ground, but invigorated by the wind and cool air.

I had an urge to sit at a spot we used to call “the living room” from which we could see the coastline almost to Point Conception, the jagged mountains and verdant hills, and the sky cavorting and commingling with the sea. We had no plan beyond a long appreciative gaze, and we meandered back along various trails, exploring. We recognized familiar sandstone formations sunlit in the distance, walked through a miniature forest whose silvery trees were adorned with moss and lichen, and wisely turned back at steep, uneven places.

Far beyond, on the other side of the canyon, I saw my own house and the spine of pale rock upon which it sits, with its white curve of driveway and heathery clusters of shrubbery, and the orchard in tidy rows, as sweet and orderly as a sheet of postage stamps. I have lived in that house for thirty years, but from this vantage point, it seemed a figment of my imagination, a dream. A mist passed through, like a veil of tiny diamonds. The air grew suddenly colder and the light shifted, and we could almost see a rainbow. It shimmered and faded, now a rainbow, now perhaps not. But we were close to a rainbow, absolutely.

And I thought of something I had read that very morning, a piece by David Whyte from his book of Consolations:

Close is what we almost always are: close to happiness, close to another, close to leaving, close to tears, close to God, close to losing faith, close to being done, close to saying something, or close to success, and even, with the greatest sense of satisfaction, close to giving the whole thing up....

I was so close to home, so close to rainbows, so close to peace—an ephemeral moment, vanishing even as it emerged. In my daily life beneath these hilltops and trails, I am wobbly with worry, at times teetering too near to despair, busy and brooding, but often close to answers, close to joy, infused with stubborn hope.

And I suppose this makes me human, for, as Whyte has written:

Our human essence lies not in arrival, but in being almost there, we are creatures who are on the way, our journey a series of impending anticipated arrivals.

Anticipated arrivals, but departures as well. Partings and yearnings, fear and foreboding…this is familiar territory. The trick is in the pauses and in noticing what’s near and what’s there along the way.

Maybe noticing what’s close involves stepping back sometimes. A few nights ago I went to a birthday party, just a handful of friends, about as social as I get. At one point, I stepped outside to look at the sunset, then turned back towards the house, where, through the window, I saw everyone gathered in the warm glow of light, the conversation visibly animated, the sense of friendship and comfort palpable. Quite privileged, yes--it was like a glossy magazine photo, a setting I could have barely imagined in my younger days. But it was real and down-to-earth, and the laughter, affection, and shared passion were apparent even through the window, and I thought wistfully for an instant how lovely it would be to be a part of such a group, to be embraced by this loving circle. Then I walked back into the house, and there I was, inside the magazine photo, embraced by the friends, fully present in this passing moment of my life.

I had a phone conversation recently with a very dear friend who was at the time in Santa Fe, looking out at white snow and blue sky, the air sharp as glass. We talked about coping and finding meaning and being far or close. “I’m just a witness to it all,” she concluded. “I do best when I cultivate a kind of detachment.”

I understand this, and it feels a little bit Buddhist to me. But I also know it is in her spirit to create, to contribute, to make things better, even if her heart is ravaged and the troubles of the world are overwhelming.

I know, too, that like me, my friend finds wonder every day and falls in love with beauty again and again, the beauty that breaks your heart and takes your breath away, the beauty so lavishly given whether or not you deserve it. She sketches and savors and strives.

We are in effect, always, close; always close to the ultimate secret: that we are more real in our simple wish to find a way than any destination we could reach: the step between not understanding that and understanding that, is as close as we get to happiness.

I have stood on a hilltop in mist and looked down upon my own little house. Everything becomes a story with distance and time, but my love and gratitude outweigh the knowledge of my impermanence. I am close.