This episode was originally released on April 10, 2024.

Transcript

I’m Major Jackson and this is The Slowdown.

Since moving to Nashville, I’ve made plenty of new friends, but I regret that my time is so little I cannot spend more precious moments with them. They are funny, smart, and curious, traits I’m just a sucker for. And they love to laugh. I love to laugh. We share the same interests.

One recently invited me to see Ava DuVernay’s latest film, another to a gala to support our local parks, and another to a concert, which are many here in Music City, but alas, my deadlines, always my deadlines. A rigorous travel schedule of readings shrinks my calendar, too.

Over bagels, I complained to my son Romie and said, “Next year, I’ll cut back on saying ‘yes’ to every opportunity.” He laughed: “Dad, you said the same thing, last year.” Oomph! No fun getting called out by your kid.

In Washington, D.C. some retired friends, whom I met for lunch before a reading, knowing I was squeezing in our get together, expressed worry about all that I’m taking on; so did a colleague after a Zoom department meeting. Apparently, I wear my exhaustion quite visibly on my face. Everyone says they like me and want me around for a long time. I love their concern and care. When asked, where does this drive come from, and why, I can only answer it’s complicated.

I read all those articles that proclaim how lonely we are becoming; I believe there’s some truth to it. Here’s my fear: all my work is making me alien to myself and others. I’m happy people are in my life. I wish not to skirt over their humanity, nor my own. I do not want our relationship to devolve to obligation, or come off as transactional. But we naturally negotiate that space of difference between ourselves and others; how rewarding when we can really connect to others.

Today’s poem possesses a powerful symbolism, one that speaks to our fears of the unknown in nature and people.

When Your Month Is Lonely…
by Christine Kwon

When your month is lonely…
The walk is lovely
but you won’t walk it
the ground wet as eyelashes
the fronds dripping steady streams
water tapping the fountain
frogs chirping
it strikes your heart with fear
the night gathering as a pool in the trees
along the fence
the sun small and pink and dying in the distance
behind some stupid houses 
and though you could call someone
it may be worse—
you’d have to entertain,
take out the cheese and wine
say something clever
maybe you should just stay with the night
find just one insect outside
and follow it
tonight I found a brown moth
with yellow eyes like an owl
opening and closing
not particularly lustrous 
like a grandmother’s dress
a black line running through the hem
skirting the floor
for a few days I was afraid of my damp
feet on the wood after pacing the night
like a lantern my body 
remembered I had to train myself
to remember nothing was happening
I was not unmoored 
I could be so sensible
and night so easy—

“When Your Month Is Lonely…” by Christine Kwon. Used by permission of the poet.