Yesterday we had a friend over for dinner and to see the London Eye fireworks from the hill we live on. I wasn't particularly looking forward to it as I had got myself tired out by the anger I felt at tidying up alone (something it would be worth going into and through at a later date). But as it happens, he opened the conversation at an unusually deep level, talking about how he had changed over the years; how he saw us and our childrearing in relation to him and his; our life stage as we are both seeing our children differentiate themselves from us and leaving home.
These are the things I like to think about. (As you may have noticed!) But that I suddenly realise I rarely actually speak about, even to my profoundly understanding husband. Not through any fault of his, but through fear of exposing my inner tenderness to any outside influence, in case I lose myself. In fact I didn't talk about my thoughts of this kind yesterday either, as one of my daughters came in and I wasn't sure about her hearing them.
This morning I crave more opportunities for this kind of conversation. It reminds me of this quote from Rumi:
Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love.
It will not lead you astray.
On reflection, much of my conversation with G in the last year has been about my health, or about his work situation, and not very much about the changes I am making in my life and my self. So at breakfast this morning I talked to him about my meditating twice daily. About how my intention had been to contain my emotional reaction to having cancer and cancer treatment, and to learn the lessons of it. That I am well on the way to seeing it not as the worst thing that could have happened to me, but against expectations the best.
His response was warm and not very surprised. A future with more deep conversations looks possible.