Pollyanna Disorder: i wouldn't have it any other way

OK, I admit it I was shocked that the whole studio thing fell through, but you know what?  I've always been one of these silly people who always thinks things turn out for the best. They turn out the only way they can, you know?  

Sure, we can ride that train through parallel universes of possibility, but that's just a distraction from the here and now, you know?  Like, I could get all crazy about what if my baby sister had used protection whatever time it was she got infected with HIV, what if she hadn't done that crazy-ass drug trial in the 90s that ended up giving her this (god damn) glioblastoma, what if that pressure on her brain stem hadn't made her a born-again Catholic I can hardly even understand anymore, but you know what?  

All that shit, that crazy shit, it happened.

So it's kinda hard to be sad about the studio thing falling apart.

And really, I've always been like this.  At work, my boss and I joke -- and honestly, sometimes I think there couldn't be a more Mutt and Jeff combination of employees when it comes to our temperaments -- that I have a bit of Pollyanna Disorder, always ready to see whatever's happened, even when it's crap, as somehow bearing a silver lining deep within itself, perhaps not immediately visible, but I know it's there.  My boss has her own affliction, Attention Surplus Disorder, super-handy for spotting even the tiniest of errors, the smallest variance in the big pattern.  This short-hand we've developed makes it so much easier for us to work together, since we understand implicitly, thanks to this code, where the other is coming from. 

I was this way, too, a perpetual Pollyanna even at 24, when I was pregnant and on my own, when I was left for an old girlfriend who'd always been waiting around the fringes, waiting for her moment, even then when I was so sad and scared to let anyone know he was gone, couldn't bear my parents' rage at him.  Even then, I knew it was the best thing.  Don't hang around with your hokey-pokey bs, weakling.  Be gone, and it'll be hard but even if I'm terrified, I know it'll be OK.

It'll be what it is.

So honestly, the studio thing: no biggies.  In fact, there were a lot of red flags in it, and I was feeling overwhelmed by the timing, the speed, the urgency of the process.  I am not ready to give up on this idea, no way, not now that I am so clear about what it would look like, how it would feel, what it would mean.

Nope.

But here's what's super great.  I'll make it happen some other way.  And in the meantime, I'm going to France in October with Joe and Martine and Terence, to Arrens, to the house where my father was born, to the house to which finally, after years of wishing, praying, hoping, we finally have our own sets of keys.  We will go there on our own, no older generation between us and the patrimoine as we say in French, to settle in and feel the full force of what it means to still have that resource, that physical connection to a family past.

So no matter what happened with that studio thing, it's good. I'm good. I'm still dreaming and spinning and making great things happen.  It'll just be somewhere else, but it'll still be.

XX