I have always wanted shearling boots to wear with tights. I tried to find some when I was in Oz, and for the last 20 years have watched UGGs with a pang in my heart.
I ordered a pair of shearling boots from Amazon. They came, and not only are they too short, just ankle length, they are also too small, though I ordered them in men’s sizes. I can’t even pull them on.
They have to go back.
And I feel the pain where that pang was.
This is one of the key lessons of my life: don’t want. Detach from desire.
When my parents started planning their September trip, even with all the work I did, I couldn’t allow myself to hope for time to hear myself. And now, with my mother absorbed by the pain in her shin, the trip looks gone. Six weeks of me, lost.
And I wanted to pursue the activist job so much that I went to see my sister at her work, almost crying, and while she promised to help with my parents, she lost the thread, so I lost the chance.
That was hard.
It turns out that it’s always hard for me to want something. All those nights I fell asleep wanting to be a girl, wanting parents who could see me, wanting friends who get the joke, wanting a world where I could be beautiful, well, they taught me well.
To move forward, you need a kind of hope for the future, but to be me you have to separate from expectations. This line, where you go for it without a clear vision of how it will be, or at least with a vision you can jettison at any time in favor of what comes next.
I know how this works from watching TBB’s life — there is no real way to predict what she will be doing in the future. Her life twists and turns, always new and emerging. On the other hand, well, it hasn’t worked that way for me; I seem to live the life of Sisyphus.
But if I don’t want more, well, maybe I wont be crushed flat again, praying to be taken out of these patterns.
Don’t want. Leave desire.
And return the damn boots.