Neither Defer Nor Neglect (Patreon)

I don’t know about you guys. But when I live somewhere for a while, I get attached to it, warts and all.

Like, changing apartments. There’s that last few hours, when all of your shit is packed, or has already been hauled off, and for the first time since you moved in, the space seems a little… alien. Here’s this place, where you’ve spent the past year, or two, or three, and you’ve made it your own, and then, allofasudden, it’s just not yours anymore. It’s prepped for the next denizen who will occupy your space, which really, was never your space to begin with. We’re all just momentary inhabitants, worshippers of the External Buddha.

I think the trigger for that feeling is that “Shit, what did I forget” emotion. If you go on vacation or something, at some point, you brain will start to sort through all of the different ways your house could burn down while you’re away. Moving is a lot like that, but more permanent. “Leaving the iron on” is replaced with “Wait, what, exactly, does a bathtub look like when it’s considered clean enough to merit a five-star review on Airbnb?” Because I just can’t remember anymore. Especially after the last year, where the luckiest of us have been able to indulge in the trend of languishing.

In that last 12 hours or so, before leaving such a place, I tend to check out, literally, but also, emotionally. There’s that moment when you’re just kind of sitting there, and you think, “OK. I’m done. I’ve gotten all I’m gonna get from this place, and I’m ready to move on — let’s just get this over with, when’s my ride gonna be here?”

The hours tick down. You take a shit in the toilet, and realize that’s probably the last shit you’re ever gonna take in that toilet, a toilet that’s been so good to you over the years. You say goodbye to specific rooms. You make sure there’s nothing embarrassing leftover that you reminded yourself, weeks ago, to get rid of. You know — you just KNOW — that at some point in the not too distant future, that you’ll get that pang of “AW, SHIT,” because you left that vibrator in the drawer next to the bed, and isn’t that gonna be awkward for whomever finds it. (I am 99% certain I have avoided any such awkwardness, but who knows? I’ll keep an eye open for that adrenaline surge that’ll come with whatever didn’t make it into my suitcase).

But, whenever I leave a place, I do find a solace. We’ve gotta change somewhat frequently, lest we become stagnant. Nobody wants that. I suppose the tradeoff is different for every person — there’s comfort in the familiar, in the what’s yours, what’s permanent, The Only Thing That Matters, The Only Thing That Lasts, a lá Scarlett’s Dad. But salmon up the stream, and all that.

The solace always looks just a little different, place to place. But the connecting thread, as douche-y as it sounds, is a quote from this old Quaker poet named William Wordsworth (can you imagine being a writer and having a name like that? It’s just being a bartender and being named Jim Beam). It’s a part of a longer quote, but the takeaway is:

“Let me neither defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”

Sounds a little depressing on the surface. Shit, is life that temporary? Does anything truly belong to us, and is anything really ours? If you think about it, there’s a possibility that you did something this week, and that’s the last time you will have ever done that thing.

But, it’s a clarion call. (Complete aside — I’m in a taxi right now, reflecting on the above, and “All Star” by Smashmouth just came on the radio. The years start coming, as the man says, and indeed, they do not stop coming.) It’s an imperative that says, “Oye china, what if you saw EVERYTHING in the same way that a pixie-like Norwegian pop singer saw things?” Novel, and new, always, with its own complicated beauty?

To each their own, but I would probably go insane if that were the case. Just personal preference.

Still, it’s a Ferris Bueller thing. Take a moment now and then, establish it as a waypoint (changes of location are great for that, especially if you want to cut back on smoking, like I do), smell the flowers, see the stuff with fresh eyes, keep close the things you cherish from that experience, and then, see what the next step has in store.

I’m going to miss this place. The scenery and the food have been lovely; the non-intrusive, benign quiet have taken me to some dark places, but I’ve come out better on the other side; one relationship in particular has changed me, forever, in ways that I’ll never be able to adequately express (chirp-chirp. you — can’t wait for more incredible adventures, or simply, mac-n-cheese).

Bittersweet is the word? Excited, but scared; nostalgic, but anticipating what’s next. Sad, but with a wry, cocked eyebrow.

I have a few more stories to tell, from this place and time. A terrible person once said that “the memories are still developing…” but even broken clocks tell the right time twice a day. So with your permission, lovely readers, I’m going to take the next several posts and pretend that I’m still in that place, living that life. It’ll still smack of authenticity, because the feelings will still be fresh.

And then, once the chemicals have had their chance to wash over the celluloid, I’ll update you on what’s next for your old pal Heather.

Onward and upward; the open road still softly calls; let me neither defer, nor neglect.