Serendipity

I’m a big believer in the theory that some books come to us when we need them. It’s happened over and over again in my life; lessons come from literature for me.

This weekend as I was whimpering in pain from my own stupidity, I finished off a book I just bought the other day.

Elizabeth Berg is an author I love because her books are like homemade whipped cream. They’re light and fluffy, but with a surprising richness. Even when I have my doubts about the subject matter, her books always suck me in because her characters are so good. Particularly the women she creates. A few months ago I read a Hemingway book where the main woman goes crazy after deciding that after three months of a blissfully happy marriage she wants to turn herself into her husband and even goes so far as to find him a new wife to take her place and then tries to seduce that wife away from him, so a seemingly light happy book about a woman finding her way in the world is quite a refreshing palate cleanser, and then once you start meditating on it It knocks you out with its wisdom.

A Year of Pleasures is about a woman named Betta who loses her husband John to cancer and is left to find her way on her own. She and John had a unique and complete relationship, so satisfied with each other that it led to the exclusion of all other friendships. They were unable to have children together, so when John dies, Betta loses all ties to the world.

She ends up moving suddenly from Boston to a small town in the midwest where she meets a quirky cast of small town characters, reconnects with long lost friends, and discovers how to get by without her soulmate.

While reading this book I just sobbed. Nearly every time I picked it up it ended in tears. Bear even began referring to it as “the book that makes you cry.” I would find myself stopping every few pages to look over at my sleeping husband and stroke his sleeping face or to wrap my arm around his broad back and whisper fiercely into his ear, “Don’t you dare die.”

The book scared me deeply because my absolute greatest fear is that something will happen to Bear and I will be alone. I have great friendships, but we’re all enveloped by life and demands and responsibilities; I have no family to count on. I would be alone and utterly adrift.

Reading the book with wide-eyed terror made me pay attention. It made me consider things suggested by the book that I probably would have just glossed over in my search for a nice lightweight beach read.

At one point, Betta and a friend were discussing the grieving process and the fact that ettiquite dictates a year of mourning. Her friend suggests that instead of a year of grief, she make it a year of pleasures. And by that she means more than just counting your blessings, but by creating pleasures to feed your soul. Whether that’s buying something lovely and actually using it instead of stashing it away because it’s too good, or making a really wonderful dessert just for yourself, or spending time appreciating a small work of beauty, it’s about surrounding yourself with what is good for your spirit so that you have the emotional resources to remember and grieve and get by.

I read that and it seemed like the room got brighter from the lightbulb going off over my head. Aren’t I always saying, “I HAVE NO MORE RESOURCES!” A few weeks ago I got a speeding ticket under circumstances that I thought were unfair and I sobbed the whole way home. The painters canceled for the second week in a row and I launch into a major depression where I don’t even want to get out of bed. I can’t bring myself to go to work at a perfectly fine but boring job where I’m surrounded by delightful people.

Of course it’s not about any of those things. It’s about the fact that this year has brought a lot to grieve, and I’m not coping as well as I think I am. The trials have come so swiftly that I have had no time to recharge and every tiny inconvenience becomes a new rock bottom for me.

I think I need to take a lot better care of myself than I have been. I need to hurry up and get my craft stuff unpacked so I can create something. I need to cook something wonderful for dinner, even if I have to push the paint brushes out of the sink first. I need to spend some time outside without thinking of all the changes I want to make. I need to get out of the house every once in a while.

I’m toying around with the idea of starting a second blog to record my year of pleasures, but I’m still struggling along with this one, so I think I’ll just try to record them here every once in a while.