Remember when part of the fun of having a pen pal

was the giddy, itchy anticipation of  waiting for their reply?

The interminable frustration of having to wait,

like waiting for Christmas, or you birthday.

Would an envelope be in today’s mail?

Or today’s? Or today’s?

Then — oh joy! — the feel of the smooth paper in your hands.

Sensing their spirit in the shape of their letters, the choice of stamp.

The sound of tearing open the flap.

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My parents just shook their heads

when I walked out the door wearing dad’s old, black raincoat,

or his letterman jacket, with the moth-eaten cuffs.

They were so old and uncool, they just didn’t understand.

Now I look at jeans belted below the glutes,

or bare midriffs in the middle of winter,

and it’s my head that’s shaking.

What I know now that I didn’t know then

is that thankfully, being cool loses its shine with time.

Now I’d rather just be me.

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Velvet black pool swallowing me up.

No light, no sound can enter.

Or wait, the shadow of a sound,

muted, distant.

My heart is pulled down, down,

down below my feet.

My heart is lead,

an anvil,

a rusted hulk.

The velvety depths wash over me.

I move through molasses,

eyes glazed, unseeing.

My body is a carapace,

threatening to drift away at the slightest vibration,

no heart there to anchor it.

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This, I discovered, is the secret to feeling connected,

part of the group, belonging: get involved.

Effort in = benefits out.

But who wants to commit?

Who has time?

Isn’t there quick fix I could use instead?

Like learning to play the piano, quick fixes don’t fix anything.

They just delay your reaching that pot of gold.

You can’t fudge being involved.

You are, or you’re not.

And everything worth doing requires time and effort.

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I made a clay chariot in what, sixth grade?

I had no idea how to make a chariot,

and I can’t now remember why I made a chariot —

perhaps as part of a module on Greek myths?

I have a faint sense that I used a chopstick for an axle.

And a stronger sense that the “wall” of the chariot kept detaching from the base.

These were the days when the only thing to go on

was a tiny illustration in the dictionary,

maybe a photo in the encyclopedia.

Now you can probably get step-by-step plans online.*

*Indeed. I just did a Google search on “how to build a chariot,” and there were more than 48,100,000 results.

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