finding a way

Life is one big Plan B.

And I’m fine with that. One thing being an immigrant prepares you for is to deal with the odd hand that comes your way when you least expect it.

In truth, my hand in life has been pretty darn good. Most everyone in my family held on to their jobs, their health, and their sense of who they were even when regimes fell, kids came and went, brains exploded, economies collapsed. So it’s not as if Plan B has been necessarily cataclysmic.

Nor do I think I am unique in having to reconfigure everything even as the best laid plan cracks at the seams. That’s the point of this small post – I recognize that this is the way life proceeds for nearly all of us: we’re often slapped with an odd hand.

I thought last night (and BTW, last night was not a happy night – too much work, too much stress over work, too much stress, period) about writing here, on Ocean: if my small slaps turned bigger, if I were less than peppy about facing the day ahead, would I still have it in me to write here? (The only time I found it impossible to write in my true voice on Ocean was back in June of 2005, when my then husband and I decided to divorce; for several weeks I could not speak here as me, so I spoke as another, though I still was the true author – complicated, isn’t it...)

I’d find a way.

So, if this sounds a little dismal, rest assured that it’s not. I’m having jitters about moving to Ed’s farmhouse, I’m having jitters about going away tomorrow because suddenly, for the first time since 9/11 and for less horrific reasons, air travel has become very unpredictable and that’s not good for a person who lives with a tight schedule, I’m having jitters about all the assumptions I made when I decided to take a pay cut and not teach in the summer, I’m having jitters, that’s all.





But, life is one big Plan B. And so, if B happens, I’ll be ready for it. Us immigrants, we can handle anything. We lost it all and gained another reality. We can take on Plan B any day.

I hope.