Transcript

I’m Major Jackson and this is The Slowdown.

On a recent evening, the line outside my favorite ice cream parlor snaked around the corner — another oppressively hot evening in the south. Some fanned themselves; others talked rapidly in anticipation of the pleasure ahead. All of us sought a flavorful relief from the humidity, except the woman ahead of me. She declared she would be here even if the temperature were negative ten degrees; she was giving herself a treat after a week spent in bed, sad from a breakup.

When I am despondent, I don’t shut down. I am the classic trooper who works right through his issues…which isn’t necessarily healthy, of course. But then, after a long day, I am on my sofa, streaming some show. And when I power down the TV, I see myself reflected in the screen. The laughter has stopped and, bang, in my eyes, something seems off.

For me, the pendulum swing that is emotional health deprives me of the world’s splendor. The hummingbird flitting about the garden is no longer enchanting to me, a bite of a perfect brick oven pizza is just food, mere nourishment, not a crispy, aromatic experience of basil, tomato sauce, mozzarella on its way to becoming a culinary memory. Planning travel to other countries feels burdensome with all the flight preparation and itinerary building. I lose my sense of excitement.

Yet, when I come out of my despair or have figured things out with the help of friends and family, I’m like the woman ahead of me in the ice cream line. I am more alive than ever, rendered new, painfully so. My synesthesia kicks in. I want to explore.

Today’s poem reminds me what recovery looks like. We are brought back to a place of thrill-seeking pleasure and curiosity.

Ode to Purple Summer
by Sabrina Benaim

I  listen  to  the  flowers.  I  hear  them  laughing.  blooming,  I mean.  I
take  a  bath  in   the  kitchen  sink.   I  pin  myself  to  the  map  on  the
bedroom  wall  &  look!   Here  I  am,   a  nap   on   the  cherry  blossom
carpet  in  the  backyard.  Instead  of  running circles inside my head,
I go  for a dance  down  the  sidewalk.  This  morning,  on  the  patio,  I
told  the waitress, I have  my open-heart  set on the  smoked salmon
hash.  I asked for coffee,  she said,  and a water with me, I did not say
jinx   out  of  respect.   I  dream  of  being  coronated  the  king   of  ice
cream  sandwiches.  I  dream  of  having  exactly  enough  change for
the  cashier.   Sometimes  waking  up  is  like  falling  back  asleep into
my  favorite  dream.   It   rains,  I  forget  there  are  clocks,   sit  on  the
stoop  and  read  poetry.  When the  man calls me,  he addresses love
and  I  recognize  he  is  talking  to me.   I  recognize  myself  as love.   I
suppose  this  is  what  I  am  getting  at,  in  the  phone call, when I tell
my mom, I feel like I am living myself back alive.

“Ode to Purple Summer” by Sabrina Benaim from I LOVE YOU, CALL ME BACK © 2021, Sabrina Benaim. Used by permission of Penguin Random House.