My bath is where it happens. The impetus to write. I am trapped in there, naked, in a vat of hot water. I begin to bathe, to think, to sweat. And because I cannot escape the thoughts with an action -- be it an email or a internet search or a cookie or a list of things to do...I start to observe my thoughts as they happen. A conversation is replayed. An email correspondence pondered. I grade my thoughts. Wise. Egotistical. Witty. Resentful. Then I decide to shave -- noticing that when I do finally put the razor to work, it is for an occasion versus any extreme pleasure on my part. I enjoy checking it off the list, seeing the black hairs disappear, row by row -- but it's onerous. Shaving is about presenting the best possible me.
I bought a compilation album of Sam Beam, the "Iron & Wine" artist, and played the tracks as I soaked. Beautiful lyrics, the kind of melodies you softly tap your foot to, and a voice that sounds honest you cannot help but be honest about things like shaving. Or...being in your 30's in a woman's body. Seeing the changes that you are trying to combat, diligently, wisely -- but not without a sense of sadness. A sigh for that which is a necessary part of aging. But then, there in the tub of truth, I realize that it's always been something. Something to be concerned about. Too fat, too many zits, too many wrinkles, too many creases in the top of my legs and ass when I stand and surmise the contours -- like a cartologist surveying the cracks that cover the surface of Sub-Saharan Africa. At this point, as I round the corner in realizing that life is too short to continuously find reasons to be unhappy with my beautiful, healthy, Only One Body -- I imagine that I've recorded an album as groundbreaking and resonant and true as Sam Beam. I've picked up the guitar and given over to the music and created original songs that are heartbreaking and unforgettable. In my radio interview, I explain in a sexy voice (that is somewhere between Catherine Keener and Julianne Moore): "If only someone had told me when I was 20 that all you have to do is put all your energy into your art, and nothing else." Then I pause and add: "Who knows, maybe someone did tell me and I was just too preoccupied to listen."
Tomorrow I will see Yoshii San. She is coming to Tokyo from Kobe with her husband and two nieces. It has been 16 years. I remember when I first saw her, stepping off the plane from Philadelphia in my brown leather birkenstocks with cork soles and a vintage pink & navy dress I bought in Manayunk, brown suede jacket with fringe trim, and my hair in a long braid. 18 and groggy from a long flight, my eyes searched the crowd of people who looked the same holding signs I could not read. Not two nights before I was partying in St. Davids, up til 4, stoned, drinking, laughing. Hoop earrings, eyeliner on my lids (a new discovery), tan from a summer of lifeguarding -- ready to jump off a cliff into Japan. The map of it. The curve of the 4 green islands against blue, like the opening to some tale from long ago, with the clouds dividing and the bonsai shaped forms of land appearing below. Everything it would mean to me. I knew. It would be mine.
From the first moment I met Yoshii San, she was a net. Her's was probably the only sign that was in English -- and it said KESF -- "Konan Students Exchange Program." Yoshii san had gone to my high school in the 1960's -- by boat. Since that time, every year a new student arrived from my high school, she took it upon herself to take care of them. Dinners, trips to beautiful shrines and sights, overnights that included long meals, wine, and eventually -- dancing. Whenever we spent time together, Yoshii San would take pictures and then without fail, a week or so later, she would present me with a photo album. I still have all those photos, at home, in a white chest with chipping paint that also bears my Andrew Wyeth book. They complement each other.
Today I taught an audit student who has studied acting in Japan for 20 years. I was in the presence of a true stage actor. I did a simple environment exercise and didn't want it to stop. I could have watched him, under those given circumstances, continue to be preoccupied with minutiae, for much longer.
Tomorrow night after work I will go to dinner with Yoshii San (Junko Yoshii) and her husband Tadahiko. What will she want to know? My life since 18? About UVA? About New York? About my adventures in the film industry, Los Angeles, and beyond? About my boyfriend and my dog? About my family? So much has happened between then and now. And yet -- and yet -- I feel that when I see her -- nothing will be different.
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