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Life on the Edge(s)
By Stephanie Kemp
Life on the Edge(s)
By Stephanie Kemp
November 26, 2022
4:55am
I have never lived on the edge. In fact, I live so far from the edge that I have actually spent a good part of my life trying to get closer to it. Trying to find it. See what it feels like, looks like, tastes like. Not in a reckless way. I was never great at drugs or casual hook ups (although both were sort of fun, twice), and I have really only ever liked to drink wine, which I learned about myself after a semester in France. I also jumped out of a plane once and went to Thailand to help my friend work at a refugee camp.
See?
But I am not good in the middle. I get restless. Mean. I am always massively grateful for what my life is and has been, but I have also always tried to push it out on all sides and make it mean more (or be be of use to others).
Until now.
I can’t see the edges anymore and am stuck in the (my) blobby middle.
Is it because my kids are almost grown?
I have been married for 19 years? (My husband is not blobby. This might be part of the problem.)
I am still watching The Crown?
I no longer work on big cool (or totally shitty but still fun to make) movies?
I no longer make little films for kids (or grown ups or anyone) that I believe in?
I am a bitch?
Or is it that I am tired?
I am 55 and a 1/2 and need to sort such un-edgy life details as:
My tooth that came out in a carmel last week at a dinner table in the woods.
The knees that formerly loved any sport with a pivot but are now in a locked state of failing negotiations with the stairs.
Someone who shall remain nameless but snores sometimes.
My daughter waiting to hear about colleges (this is actually very edgy).
My other daughter navigating new high school and new friends (this is edgy only to me and my husband, she is having a blast).
Or maybe I am sad?
My mom has been gone almost 3 years.
My dad has been gone over 14.
My period has been gone for 5.
Am I sad that I am missing them less and less? (I never really missed the period…..or did I?)
That I can’t always find them? Conjure them? Hear them?
Am I sad that I have to be (only) a grown up?
Ooh - maybe I am angry!
That I have to reconfigure the balance with my family of origin.
That I can’t find my residual self or tap into her curiosity.
That I miss my friends but don’t want to see too many of them until I am recognizable, post pandemic (I love to blame the pandemic for any/everything).
Maybe I will never be (formerly) recognizable again!
Or maybe I am totally succeeding?
…I still love my husband.
…My daughters are happy (mostly) and healthy (knock wood - knock again).
…I am writing things down.
And I go for a lot of walks.
Plus.
I am taking my family to Paris.
Don’t tell my daughters — we are surprising them on Christmas morning.
They will wake up to no presents but get to choose between:
Door #1:
California Road Trip!
Door #2:
All Expense Paid 5 Day Trip to Nebraska!
Door #3: We’re not telling, but if you choose this QR code there’s no turning back!
This is edgy because:
They are actually going to Paris (no matter which door they pick).
I sold my mom’s wedding ring to fund the trip (I didn’t love her husband, evn though I am realizing how much he loved her now: post sale, their life on earth and several decades later).
I will get my ass kicked in the way only France knows how to kick (and then save) it.
There is a war in Europe. (There is a war in Europe.)
Given that I can’t possibly take on the reality of that last sentence, I am going to stay with the France kicking my ass part:
I won’t be able to understand a single word, but will be able to speak enough of them properly to make me seem like I know what I’m doing.
In this way, maybe I will become recognizable.
Because I am finally realizing that no one really knows what they are doing.
Maybe it is the world that is unrecognizable.
A war in Europe?
A pandemic?
No parents?
College?
Climate What?
No wonder I (want to?) stay in the blobby middle.
Should you need to hear more about this (it is 5:28am and I need coffee now), please contact my friend, Heather. She will be able to put you in touch with her son, who — as a teenager — was smart enough to see (and very simply) explain that ”The whole world is held together by duct tape.”
A bientôt………(j’espére/peut être).
PARIS!…(but first the dentist on Monday.)
ps/note to self: Remember to write the story about jumping out of the plane. And what happened to your face (temporarily) and your friend’s life (permanently).
pps. Take it as a good sign that you had a dream in French last night (with real words) and then wrote these 3 poems in the middle of the night (and could read your writing this morning):
Je M’appelle Stéphanie
Je ne suis pas française, cela me rende triste.
(Avec l’accent aigu, je deviens plus optimiste.)
Door Number 3
Vive la France(s) et long Liv(e) la vie…
Il n’y a pas de mots (sauf je suis joyeuse ici).
(Ce n’est pas!) Mon Francais
Ok, Ok. Je sais. C’est vrai.
Mon français est devenu vieux.
Mais ce n’est pas grave, parce que il’a y une fille,
Qui peut parler (et comprendre!) plus* mieux……..
*I will ask the girl if I need that plus with the mieux, when she wakes up, a midi. (She is a teenager.)
And then I will google “How to do accents on a mac”.........again.
______________________________
4:55am
I have never lived on the edge. In fact, I live so far from the edge that I have actually spent a good part of my life trying to get closer to it. Trying to find it. See what it feels like, looks like, tastes like. Not in a reckless way. I was never great at drugs or casual hook ups (although both were sort of fun, twice), and I have really only ever liked to drink wine, which I learned about myself after a semester in France. I also jumped out of a plane once and went to Thailand to help my friend work at a refugee camp.
See?
But I am not good in the middle. I get restless. Mean. I am always massively grateful for what my life is and has been, but I have also always tried to push it out on all sides and make it mean more (or be be of use to others).
Until now.
I can’t see the edges anymore and am stuck in the (my) blobby middle.
Is it because my kids are almost grown?
I have been married for 19 years? (My husband is not blobby. This might be part of the problem.)
I am still watching The Crown?
I no longer work on big cool (or totally shitty but still fun to make) movies?
I no longer make little films for kids (or grown ups or anyone) that I believe in?
I am a bitch?
Or is it that I am tired?
I am 55 and a 1/2 and need to sort such un-edgy life details as:
My tooth that came out in a carmel last week at a dinner table in the woods.
The knees that formerly loved any sport with a pivot but are now in a locked state of failing negotiations with the stairs.
Someone who shall remain nameless but snores sometimes.
My daughter waiting to hear about colleges (this is actually very edgy).
My other daughter navigating new high school and new friends (this is edgy only to me and my husband, she is having a blast).
Or maybe I am sad?
My mom has been gone almost 3 years.
My dad has been gone over 14.
My period has been gone for 5.
Am I sad that I am missing them less and less? (I never really missed the period…..or did I?)
That I can’t always find them? Conjure them? Hear them?
Am I sad that I have to be (only) a grown up?
Ooh - maybe I am angry!
That I have to reconfigure the balance with my family of origin.
That I can’t find my residual self or tap into her curiosity.
That I miss my friends but don’t want to see too many of them until I am recognizable, post pandemic (I love to blame the pandemic for any/everything).
Maybe I will never be (formerly) recognizable again!
Or maybe I am totally succeeding?
…I still love my husband.
…My daughters are happy (mostly) and healthy (knock wood - knock again).
…I am writing things down.
And I go for a lot of walks.
Plus.
I am taking my family to Paris.
Don’t tell my daughters — we are surprising them on Christmas morning.
They will wake up to no presents but get to choose between:
Door #1:
California Road Trip!
Door #2:
All Expense Paid 5 Day Trip to Nebraska!
Door #3: We’re not telling, but if you choose this QR code there’s no turning back!
This is edgy because:
They are actually going to Paris (no matter which door they pick).
I sold my mom’s wedding ring to fund the trip (I didn’t love her husband, evn though I am realizing how much he loved her now: post sale, their life on earth and several decades later).
I will get my ass kicked in the way only France knows how to kick (and then save) it.
There is a war in Europe. (There is a war in Europe.)
Given that I can’t possibly take on the reality of that last sentence, I am going to stay with the France kicking my ass part:
I won’t be able to understand a single word, but will be able to speak enough of them properly to make me seem like I know what I’m doing.
In this way, maybe I will become recognizable.
Because I am finally realizing that no one really knows what they are doing.
Maybe it is the world that is unrecognizable.
A war in Europe?
A pandemic?
No parents?
College?
Climate What?
No wonder I (want to?) stay in the blobby middle.
Should you need to hear more about this (it is 5:28am and I need coffee now), please contact my friend, Heather. She will be able to put you in touch with her son, who — as a teenager — was smart enough to see (and very simply) explain that ”The whole world is held together by duct tape.”
A bientôt………(j’espére/peut être).
PARIS!…(but first the dentist on Monday.)
ps/note to self: Remember to write the story about jumping out of the plane. And what happened to your face (temporarily) and your friend’s life (permanently).
pps. Take it as a good sign that you had a dream in French last night (with real words) and then wrote these 3 poems in the middle of the night (and could read your writing this morning):
Je M’appelle Stéphanie
Je ne suis pas française, cela me rende triste.
(Avec l’accent aigu, je deviens plus optimiste.)
Door Number 3
Vive la France(s) et long Liv(e) la vie…
Il n’y a pas de mots (sauf je suis joyeuse ici).
(Ce n’est pas!) Mon Francais
Ok, Ok. Je sais. C’est vrai.
Mon français est devenu vieux.
Mais ce n’est pas grave, parce que il’a y une fille,
Qui peut parler (et comprendre!) plus* mieux……..
*I will ask the girl if I need that plus with the mieux, when she wakes up, a midi. (She is a teenager.)
And then I will google “How to do accents on a mac”.........again.
______________________________
