the space between my fingers

when dan and i first started seeing each other, we held hands. constantly. i used to hold my hand up to his, to see how much larger it was than mine. for whatever reason that consistently astounded me.

the size, the shape of his hand, so foreign from my own, and yet so well known.

every once in a while i still do that -- measure my hand to his. remind myself of the span of his hands, how he can palm a basketball with ease.

it's been many years since we met. so much shapes you, as you grow--the wind, rain, the cold and the heat, all the various emotions. when we were young we used to argue all the time--sometimes about the most mundane of things, sometimes about simply who was right and who was wrong. as time passed and we grew to know one another better, other things stood in our way and our arguments shifted. then we argued about money, about jealousy, about the things that are so terribly important when you're twenty-two and think that you're All Grown Up.

really, nothing could be further from the truth.

but at that age, you don't know it.

i think that many people, myself included, have a difficult time understanding how to put aside that drama from childhood--the fears of monsters under the bed, of the dark, of things that are unknown to us, the proverbial bump in the night. that drama sustains us, for a time. when dan and i first held hands it was strange and comforting and exciting. of course later we argued about it, i'm sure. if i look in all my old journals i'm certain to find that it was some part or parcel of discussion.

who knows.

it grows easier and easier with time to become mellow--to drift, to float along, to find all the things that bind you together with other people and forget the things that keep you apart. while swimming you forget that you cannot fly; while walking you forget that you can swim. there is space between my fingers--it's always been there, holding them separate. in the womb there was no space, the fingers were paws, webbed and alien.

and then growth--time passes and one is born, and the fingers are their own little entities. did i take the time then to quibble about the why, or question the need for ten digits? was i overwrought with this change? did it consume me?

no--i was too young to remember it. and now i am old enough to see the difference and appreciate it. so very few things separated my fingers three decades ago, so very few things separate me from dan, from my family, from my friends, now. why should i argue? why should i gnash my teeth and suffer? what is the point?

i guess somewhere along the way--in between the fretting and worrying and shouting--i let it go. there was no point to holding onto all of that drama; it was useless. it became a question, each time an issue arose--is this life-altering? if not, then pick another battle. save your strength. wait, this too shall pass.

all the arguments we had ten years ago, all the suffering and agonizing over decisions and opinions--it all falls away. in the end it is his hand in mine, and if it were not for the space between my fingers, i would not know that balm.