A letter I wrote to my friend. He asked me how I’ve been lately. It’s been a while, so I write him this…
Dude, I think about you often. And your brother. And A—. And I wish that I’d already met your kids (you have two now?). Goodness, we are certainly moving on through our lives. Unfortunately, that feels like a movement away too often. For me, anyways. It’s been five and a half years since we’ve seen each other. And you with A—, your kids, a house, a proper job, a studio soon. And I wonder where your work fits into all of this. It seems like when we were in college, you were so dedicated to your work, your pots. Sure, you chased girls plenty, but really, you always had pottery as your frame. I felt that change with A—.
It’s something you should be proud of.
Not just that A— will have you, but, too, that you had the courage and the strength start trusting her, to start making decisions with her in mind, and with the sacrifices, small and large, that those choices required.
I hope your kids sometime know about those choices you’ve made. That you chose them over something you used to love so dearly, and I’m sure you still do. Love pottery, I mean. And still choose them over pottery all the time. Most likely they take you for granted right now, but eventually, they’ll get it.
It’s something I’ve not yet done. Chosen love, I mean, over the other passions of my life (poems, then pots, and now teaching writing). Sometimes I think I’ve not yet had the chance to choose that love instead. A big love. Maybe that’s right. But it doesn’t seem like I’ve ever been in a relationship where someone loved me enough to consider me in her future like that. I’ve wanted it. With Kari-elin. With Jane. With Jenevieve. With Jane. With Amy.
But I’ve never loved well, I think. Maybe I’ve chosen poorly. Must have. Maybe I’ve not yet learned to love myself. I still wonder what that means, whether I love myself at all or not, or just not enough. I can look at my life and see its value. Sure. I add beauty to the world in some ways. I am a solid teacher. I am happy and fully present when I cook, when I write, when I teach, when I walk my dog, when I talk to children, when I read Rilke, or Eliot, or Whitman, or Bishop.
I know how to accept and live with my sadnesses. As a lover. As a son. As a brother. As a failed potter.
I’m just trying to reckon with the life I make and receive every morning. And as I’m sure you know, it is difficult.
I got a tattoo this last Thanksgiving. My left forearm. The same shape I used to decorate my pots. That wax-resist brushwork. A circle with a smaller circle and two crossing lines inside. I did it because I think I might never make another pot again. Maybe because I need to not make one again. Maybe because I’m just afraid it won’t really happen again. But maybe it will. I miss it sometimes.
The tattoo is the best decision I’ve made in a long, long time.
I miss you, S—. Please tell me about more about A— and your family. Your pots. Your teaching. Your brother. Your parents. Living in the upper Midwest. The snow that just buried you. The last great meal you’ve had. Something that surprises me. Anything that matters. About you, then, my friend.
Yours, always,
T
You are not a failed potter. You became a potter because you wanted art to function in your life. You wanted it to have practical value. You wanted to raise your attention to the everyday, to life’s viscera. You don’t need to eat a sandwich off a plate you made yesterday to do that. You are a potter who is currently doing other things, and who will continue to do other things when he returns to the studio, to wrap, even if for only an hour, his hands around a pound of clay.
And you love well. And you are loved well.
Oh wow, T, you should see these videos Michelle Spencer made. Do you remember her from Boulder–performance artist, dancer? She made these clips to encourage herself, and so many people liked them, she put them online as a Motvational Video Archive. Watch the one called Love is good.
http://motivationalvideoarchive.org/Mota/
Your dog’s name is Rilke.
That’s clap out loud kudos to you.
One of my all time favorite poems is his,
called Lament.