There’s a line in A.R. Ammons poem “An Improvisation for the Stately Dwelling” that comes to mind often right now:
what is to become of us we know
how are we to be taken by it or take it
In the poem, Ammons is talking about the gradual decline of a friend with cancer and the inevitability of death—not only for his friend but for all of us. A bit grim, I know, but what I like about these lines is that Ammons beautifully expresses one of our human paradoxes—there are certain inevitabilities in life that will take us, but we get to choose how we’ll take them.
As we know, not all inevitabilities are bleak—there’s the inevitability of the forsythia and daffodils signaling the start of spring or the inevitability that after winter the days will grow longer and the nights shorter. Regardless, all inevitabilities reveal the stark reality that we are not as in control of our lives as we’d like to be. We can no more make a tulip bloom than we can ultimately avoid death. But, as Ammons question suggests, we can choose how we will take the things we do not choose.
I know that what I’m saying is not new, but thinking about this in the context of our semi-nomadic life as a military family is new for me. Moving, for us, is an inevitability that I continue to grapple with. You’d think that after having grown up moving and having eight military moves under my belt, I’d be used to it. Not so.
Every time we move I feel as though I’m involuntarily boarding a train, and as it picks up speed I still have one foot on the platform. It can feel as though my only choice is to jump on the moving train; I’m used to being taken by it.
What I’m asking myself now is--how will I choose to take it instead?
You can find Part II here.
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