The One with what I Miss

I had a dream last night of the ocean.
I was riding on a long, skinny boat and the waves crashed up and over the tall sides like liquid lightning.
I could see manatees swimming beneath the water’s surface and sea weed swaying in the movement.
I was wearing a pink bikini, ready to jump off and swim far below into the dark blue unknown.
I miss the ocean.

I miss a lot of things. It happens what can I say? This feeling of doubt comes over me; this uncertainty with what I’m doing with my life and that it is not as great as it was the year before or the year before that and so on.
Maybe I moved to the wrong place? Maybe I quit the wrong job? Maybe I am in love with the wrong person?

I miss what I had before and it haunts me. Like a bad dream.
Then I wake up, look around, remember where I am and realize this is where I am supposed to be. This is what I am supposed to love. This is what I am supposed to miss in the future.
Next year to be exact.

***

I miss the days when I still believed in Santa Claus. When I felt so overcome with excitement the night before Christmas and waiting on the stairs the next morning with my sisters to go open our stockings. I miss the half-eaten cookies and knobbed carrots. Ever since my cousin spoiled it for me, saying Santa Claus isn’t real, I feel a little less magical. I still believe a red twinkle in the sky on Christmas Eve is Rudolph.

I miss picking raspberries with my grandmother. I miss singing old hymnals with her and talking about what we love most about summertime. She can’t walk very well now. It breaks my heart every time I am in those bushes without her. I bet she hates knowing I am singing down there all by myself.

I miss having summers off. I miss working three jobs in a day and still having the energy to dance at parties in Cooperstown corn fields. I miss smoking in my old used cars. I miss licking the whipped cream off of our Stewart’s make-your-own sundaes. I miss watching the sunsets over Route 20 and carving our initials in the old railroad bridge.

I miss snow days. I miss putting a spoon under my pillow. I miss doing the snow dance. I miss the early morning calls saying there will be no school tomorrow. Just like the call I got last night.

I miss his shower. I miss how it was always the first thing we did when I came over. I miss the taste of our cold PBR’s in the hot steam and how he always used conditioner on his long golden locks. We always shared the same towel and ate a meal made of venison after.

 

I miss college. I miss being able to drink until drunk on a Tuesday night and still wake up and go to class the next day. Or give a presentation or take an exam or write a 10-page paper. On a Wednesday or a Thursday or a Sunday. Or any day. We drank on any day and still did it again the next day. I feel weak only drinking two times a week now. Or should I feel like an adult. Mature? Grown up? I can’t tell if I love it or hate it.

I miss Cherry Valley. I miss the view of our rolling hills out back. I miss Top of the Valley. I miss Canton. I miss Lampson Falls. I miss running on Miner Street. I miss Jambles. I miss Paris. I miss walking through the vineyards of France. I miss Honolulu. I miss the sunsets off the beach. I miss India. I miss Jaipur. I miss Shimla. I miss Varanasi. I miss the shore of the Ganga. I miss Paul Smiths. I miss Saranac Lake. I miss Lake Placid. I miss the peak of Whiteface Mountain right out my bedroom window. I miss the openness of Ohio. I miss Indiana. I miss Idaho. I miss the mountainous passes of Colorado highways. I miss the roar of the Pacific Ocean. I miss the middle of Pennsylvania. I miss the quietness of Charlottesville. I miss the taste of beer in Asheville. I miss the haunted Savannah, Georgia. I miss the humidity of Miami. I miss the saltiness of the Keys. I miss the panhandle of Florida. The cornfields of Alabama. The slowness of Tennessee. The mystery of Michigan.

I miss dancing. By the stage, behind the stage, on the stage. I miss the spilled beer and the heat of a concert hall. I miss the way my thighs feel the next day after a night of dancing.
I now have shower parties with myself where I blare the music and dance in front of the mirror. It’s not quite the same, but it’s nice. My thighs don’t hurt quite as bad.

I miss writing personal essays for my creative writing classes. I miss the topics, the way I would write my heading, reading my essays out loud in the back of the library. I miss writing for a grade. Now I write for myself, and for you. I’m not so sure how I would grade myself?

I miss India. I miss how it smelt of burning incense and rotting garbage. I miss how old it felt, how impossible it seemed to have something so beautiful, yet so ancient, still be standing. I miss my dirt stained feet and bucket showers. I miss not being able to swallow the water when I brushed my teeth. I miss when life challenges you to try new things, to not be able to do what you have been used to doing for so long. I miss how strong I became. How fearless.

I miss sweating. In saunas, in the Florida heat, in the Delhi streets. Sweating it all out makes me feel lighter. I have to run for quite a while now to feel like that in this Michigan winter.

I miss being single. I miss not knowing who I will fall in love with next, who I will show my body to, who I will learn all about, who I will wake up beside. I miss the mystery, the butterflies, the giddiness of holding hands. I miss the fire.

 

I miss the time before texting. Before Instagram. Before all my friends moved away, got engaged, started having babies, and living separate lives. I miss simplicity. The art of the unknown; of not knowing what everybody is up to, is doing, has done. I tried to turn off my phone the other day. That didn’t go so well.

I miss waitressing. I miss having change in my pocket at all times. I miss having extra money for the movies or ice cream or thrift shopping. I miss scribbling down orders and talking to my tables about life goals and becoming a writer. I miss telling them they may be in one of my stories someday.

I miss short hair. I miss getting it cut whenever I feel like becoming someone new. I miss how my short strands would stick out from under winter hats or how sometimes I looked like a pixie fairy. I miss not having to comb it. I seriously thought about cutting it last week, and then again yesterday, and probably again tomorrow. I have been growing it out for four years now. It doesn’t look any longer to me than when I began.

I miss mountains. Being in them, on them, near them. Being on top of them. I feel the freest when I am climbing mountains and I always question why I am not living by them? I suppose I am looking to see what else can make me feel free. There is a lot, I am sure, but nothing like mountains. I try to sound happy whenever my sister talks about her hiking trip of the day.

I miss living near home. I miss hearing the news, the updates, the announcements within our family circle. I miss being included. I miss being the first one to know. About Luke’s bottom tooth, or Jossy’s first words, or Gramma’s hospital visit again. I just wish I had a crystal ball so I wouldn’t miss all the things I am missing.

I miss my grandparents. I miss Jossalynn. I miss Luke. I miss my sisters. I miss my family. I miss stopping in at Aunt Jodi’s after a run.  I miss Martin.  I miss Florence.  I miss Meg and Lexie. I miss Alexandra. I miss Gabs. I miss the Green Goddess Girls. I miss Zane. I miss Ivy and Seb. I miss Heather and Sage and the Kate’s and all the tanned conchs. I miss Jake Hunt. I miss Ryan’s Mom. I miss Kevin’s cousin. I miss my wife. I miss Anna and Carlie and April and Colin and Hanna and Emlyn and Kayce and Jackie. I miss the old man I would always see at the gym. I miss Natalia. I miss Carol and Cathy. I miss Schue and his old dog. I miss Tom’s hair. I miss Sam’s car. I miss Kevin not wearing shirts all the time. I miss Laurie’s calzones. I miss Natasha’s Frye boots. I miss Alyssa’s clothes. I miss Al Gal. I miss Katelynn, both of them. I miss snuggling with my mother and hugs from my father. They never get old.

I miss being tan all year long. I miss wearing only a bikini to clean my apartment. A bikini top and jean shorts to the grocery store. It was one of the things I loved about Florida. The dark beige color of my skin and the feeling of being sun kissed even on Christmas day.

I miss her. She was my best friend. Is my best friend if she still wants to be? I miss how we would laugh at the same time and dance the same way. I miss how we would snuggle on futons and watch Beaches pretending we were the characters. Maybe we are? CC and Hillary go for a few years without talking. Maybe this is that time for us? This too shall pass. We are stronger than that, I do believe.

I miss the West. I miss that road trip my sister, mom, and I went on from California to New York. I miss stopping in New Mexico and having a picnic in a parking area. I miss the feeling of driving East and never wanting to stop.

 

I miss running into the flocks of geese. I miss the idea of flying away with them. Of leaving the ground and flapping somewhere south. I miss the predicted image of what it would look like. The world from above, without a plane or a parachute, between me and the earth. I miss the excitement of what it would feel like. Of taking off, of flying, of falling. I miss the mystery. In a past life I was a goose and I remember the image. I remember flying into the golden sunset. And some days, some dreams, I am still there. My wings strong against the wind, eyes straight on the horizon, my future behold.