Silent Night

I'm in the Holy Land. I don't feel Holy. In fact, I don't feel much of anything. Perhaps this has something to do with the confusion of my internal clock, or the fact that I could just as easily be in Texas, or Boston, or Amsterdam and the city would look and feel very similar to Jerusalem. I suppose that I'm confirming here what I've long suspected...I'm not sentimental.

I don't cry at life insurance commercials. I don't remember "the good old days" with fond caressing love. I don't seek out old friends or old boyfriends or old memories or anything of that ilk to relive some past that no longer moves me. So perhaps this is why, when I think of Christ moving through these streets, or when I think of the many years of tearing down and building up and conflicts and haggling and peace, it feels just like any other day of my life.

But the things that do move me - being able to put my boyfriend in context. Knowing that, given his background (seeing it, living it) that he is being a really great guy in his way, trying to understand me better and making a super A-1 effort to fit this idea of love. I think back to the years of refined gentility that I lived with another guy and realize that much of it was all taught to him from an early age just by his surroundings, and also by his family. It meant that he knew early on how to be delicate with women, how to make life poetic, what to say and what to do. He made love and appreciation very obvious. But it never forced me to look beyond what I saw, and perhaps I can make that connection now.

This city is full of hidden places and multiple meanings. Perhaps my boyfriend is rough around the edges but there's a lot more too him than just the stony exterior. And that helps a lot, the perspective.

So we'll see. Right now, I miss my bed and my son.