Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

Slowing Down

Lost Childhood

“Where are you Christmas
Why can’t I find you 
Why have you gone away 
Where is the laughter 
You used to bring me 
Why can’t I hear music play 
My world is changing
I’m rearranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too?”

Dear Darling,

Christmas is coming…too fast. It’s barreling at me like a glittering magical freight train at 120 miles per hour.

When I was a kid, Christmas took a glorious eternity to arrive. I couldn’t wait for it to get here, but I had to. That nervous anticipation, that giddy state of childlike wonder cocooning everything in a haze of happiness.

Now I’m all grown up. I’ve acquired patience, or a better share of it. I can wait for Christmas, in fact I wish it would take longer to get here so I can savor it. Sensing a change in my desires, Christmas picked up speed, hurtling towards me faster than I can absorb its beauty. My crazy life going nonstop means even when it slows down, my head is still abuzz. I worked 14 hours the other day and woke up early to do two hours of a radio show. Then I pulled eight hours the next day, and got home and was bored! I can’t refocus. The nonstop motion of a busy life has hooked me into its rhythm, and now life is a blur. It’s moving too fast.

Someone sent me a Christmas letter, and I haven’t even read it. I have 50 unread e-mails in my inbox (I never leave e-mails unread), some of them important, that i haven’t responded to yet. I helped decorate the outside of the family’s house, but I don’t have a tree in my room or any lights, and Christmas is four days away.

Maybe regular life has just become enough for me that Christmas lacks the charm and novelty it used to have. Rather than several hundred tracks consisting of renditions of carols I’ve heard every year for nigh three decades, I enjoy the 1500+ serenades and ballads of love and loss I enjoy during the year.

Isn’t it ironic that the same patience and devotion to waiting for you has cursed me with the ability to await other things such as Christmas so well that they lose their value?

Maybe I’m too inquisitive. I want to learn it all, but being inquisitive often means seeing what things really are, which leads to a loss of magic. You die a little when Santa is confined to the story books, when you see the magician’s trick for what it is and see the Disney princess on her smoke break. Even the wonder of the human body has lost a little of its mystique, and the once-vast world of medicine, doctors and nurses has shrunk almost to an attainable level — “Why! they’re all just pretending to know what they’re doing!”

It reminds me of that poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen, Rock Me To Sleep.

Tonight, as ever, I  have this craving for deep conversation. Somehow when I talk with people, the topics quickly plunge to the grave and glorious. I’m craving that tonight. I’d like nothing better than to sit in a well-decorated coffee bar to the tune of a slow Christmas jazz, or drive around town as snow pours down, talking about the intricacies and depths of life over ice cream and gentle piano music in the background. I want to share desire and philosophy and love and righteousness and solutions to the world’s problems. I want someone to invade my heart with a smile and a host of fresh new thoughts, and share new wisdom and new insight, make me laugh with the beautiful simplicity of truth. Someone who can take my heart out of its shell, blow the dust off it and cherish it.

More engagements and marriages fill my friends list. Well-deserving people, of course, but just more evidence of the ever-dwindling list of alleged peers who pair off one by one and leave me sitting by the fire, taking stock of my life and writing lonely letters to a girl I haven’t met at quarter after two in the morning.

I have situations where I need your advice. I need someone wise and sage, someone at least an equal, with a view either more compassionate and merciful, or less grave, or something. I don’t always want to be the smart one, and I don’t always want to be the giver. Have you noticed most of the world are takers? No one gives. I’m a giver, but I want first to let me give to you, and second for you to give to me.

It’s okay to pursue me a little too. It’s okay to need me…and to show it. Maybe I want you to need me. Maybe I want you to be a little persistent, to feel like I’m worth a little effort rather than giving up in one try. Ask about me. I always want to talk, but I won’t be the guy who goes around volunteering information and self-disclosing constantly. Ask deep questions. I like when people ask deep probing questions. Study me. Remember things about me and bring them back up. Be curious about aspects of my life, just because they’re mine.  People think I’m arrogant, but I’m not so arrogant to suppose you want to hear about me. You have to ask. Please, ask. Pry even. I’ll tell you if you prove too deeply, and until then it’s how I know you care. I am open and honest, and I want to know everything about you.

And the heck of it all is, I have to face another night like this alone. A dead end night, where no one whispers my name goodnight as we drift off, where I can’t lie awake on my back, content just to hear you breathe. I want to wake up and pick up life where we left off last night, with unfinished conversation threads, thoughts about the news, and continuing to learn about each other. Loving each other, living our lives together, and at the end of the day falling asleep in each other’s arms determined to do it all over again the next day. I don’t want any more dead end nights.

So, I’m up late reading memos from work, browsing forums, listening to music, even though I know I’ll be asleep within minutes of hitting the pillow.

The sad thoughts hover close dear, but there’s many happy thoughts yet in store.

Love ever,
Beren

“Where are you Christmas
Do you remember
The one you used to know
I’m not the same one
See what the time’s done
Is that why you have let me go?”

Faith Hill

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December 22, 2012 - Posted by | Loneliness

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