Hurry Up! Wait!

Last night someone asked me when the Jazzman would be moving out of his current digs. I responded, "We're not rushing anything."

The first night I met him, as we sat over supper at Panera, about an hour-and-fifteen into the date, he asked, "Don't you want to know the origin of my name?" I think I answered something like, "We've got plenty of time." What I was thinking was how comfortable I was with this man, and how I could envision—even at that moment—months if not years of sitting across a table from him. I did not feel an urge to learn every possible fact about this man as quickly as possible. I knew there would be time to uncover history. It was not lightning; it was a dip in a warm pool, being encompassed by the balm of ease.

But, at almost-60, there are mixed emotions. All around us parents and friends are reaching the end of their lives. Acquaintances from years past are having heart attacks or being diagnosed with cancer or succumbing to mysterious viruses picked up in some obscure foreign land.

So while there is, on one hand, the sense of being an adult, of being able to dodge the youthful urgency to have it all, right now, there is, on the other hand, the sense that life is fleeting. I don't need it all, right now; I want it all, right now. One of us might become terminally ill a year from now, and how much would we have missed by not throwing all caution to the winds and moving forward? And if we do move forward with speed, and nothing untoward happens, then look how much more of a lovely life we've had together, even though we didn't begin until [some of] our hair was gray.

But what if we move forward and then discover that life isn't as lovely as we thought it would be?

Arghhh! Too many thoughts; too many decisions!

One step at a time. This weekend we're traveling together, for the first time. I'll tell you on Sunday night whether we're still speaking to each other after this little run down to D.C.