So. It’s been a while since I last wrote. Maybe I’m getting old.
Or maybe not.
There’s a piece in today’s New York Times that examines the question of getting old.
Honestly, I do not feel old. Oh, I ache a little in the mornings, but that’s OK. My mind feels 20-something.
OK, that’s all throat clearing.
The other day, I was listening to Bob Dylan in my car. The song that came on was Rainy Day Women #12 & 35. And it got me to thinking.
I got married when I was 28 years old, which means that I had about 12 years of experience with women before T and I settled down. And I was thinking about why none of those earlier relationships had worked out.
Some didn’t want me after a while. Some, I didn’t want, after a while. Some wanted me to change, and those were the hardest ones. Because sometimes I wanted to change. Some others just wanted me strange.
The ones who wanted me to change–there were Jews who thought I ought to embrace my Jewishness. There were Christians who thought I ought to revise my franchise. There were Marxists who thought I wasn’t revolutionary enough.
And then there was T.
I won’t say that T didn’t want me to change, and I won’t say that I didn’t change. But when I sometimes changed back–and over the past ten years, that’s been the largest part of my life–she didn’t kick me out.
Not a whole lot to say here. I guess the main thing is, when you find someone who won’t kick you out? You’ve got a love worth keeping.