Probability: Zero
breathing hills
Monarch butterflies have been darting gaily about the treetops, and there's a bright, waxing moon but I've glimpsed some shooting stars too. In the afternoon light the hills look so plushly fleshed out and fur-colored they almost seem to breathe, and one morning the air was so clear we saw all the way to the edge of Catalina. Wonders never cease.
Our daughter has returned for a holiday visit, and that makes me giddy. When I look up and see her reading in the big red armchair by the window, I feel that everything is for the moment just as it should be. We have a perfect visit planned, meaning we basically have no plans. We're just here, mostly, and that's more than enough.
On Thursday night I had a reading at the bookstore in town, and that too was a wonder of sorts. It was pretty special to have so many people I love all gathered in one place at the same time, just listening to me share my stories. That's all the fame I'll ever need, and I felt lifted. Even my ol' colleague, Treebeard, came down from his cabin in the mountains, so I was especially glad I'd come prepared to read this quote of his from a talk he'd once given on probability and paradox and the unlikelihood of everything:
"What's the probability of all of us being here today for this occasion? How many separate events and decisions over the years does this moment depend on? That's easy. Probability: zero. Absolutely impossible. And yet here we are."
That's how I felt about this little gathering at the Book Loft, and that's really how I feel about the whole improbable trajectory of my life. In fact, you could say that the over-arching theme of my book is the implausibility of everything. Oh, there's a lot of pain and sadness in there too, and a lot of questioning and absurdity, but I've tried to emphasize the learning, and how we gradually acquire what Emily Dickinson calls "that precarious gait/Some call experience".
And I hope my sense of wonder and surprise is in evidence throughout.
I believe that every life has stories worth writing, and I tend to write mine compulsively. I admit I sometimes alter details, misremember, or allow myself the liberty of invention, but I try to be honest in the essence of things. The book consists of 40-odd pieces, several of which originated as blog posts right here, and others of which are simply memories or musings written and rewritten over the years in search of a shape and a home.I suppose you could say that creating this book has been a form of therapy and catharsis for me, and I certainly went to elaborate lengths to prove something to myself.
But it has also helped me to keep people I have loved alive on the page and to look back and discover the meaning I may have missed in the course of my journey. Most important, its existence allows me to hope that my experiences might have value to others, that someone somewhere may feel comforted, counseled, or less alone because of something I shared. Maybe all a writer hopes for is to connect with another soul.So, probability zero.
And yet here we are.