A field trip with Masan’s class today to PS 3 in Bed Stuy to see a shadow puppet play about peace. We traveled by school bus to get there, in those sticky, tall, faux leather seats, which in itself brought back so many memories. Being on the bus with my own 6 year old child was just so full circle—especially when she reminds me of a much cooler, more confident version of myself at that age.

Tomorrow is our 10 year wedding anniversary, and coupled with the fact that both D and I turned 40 this year has brought up a few of those “this is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife” Talking Heads moments. How did I get here? Am I where I want to be? Better yet, where did I think I would be at this stage in my life? I certainly didn’t think that I would have 3 lovely girls, be married to a kind, funny man, and be living in Brooklyn, New York. Things are so much better and more interesting than I could have imagined. And yet…I didn’t think that I would be living in a space where we wait in line to use our 1 bathroom and don’t have any place to escape to when the 3 kiddos have turned the living room/dining room into a pirate ship. I didn’t think I would be 40 and still renting an apartment. By 40 I thought I would certainly be a home owner. My parents bought a home when they were in their mid-20’s, for goodness sake! It’s when these thoughts come into my mind that I am reminded of a song that I learned when I was 5—I don’t remember all of the words, but the gist is that we should be grateful for the good things that we have because for many, these good things are just a dream. So there’s the longing for what I don’t have and the guilt over the longing, in typical Masaniello-style.

This home ownership stuff came up for me in a big way today when the 2 other chaperones for the field trip were talking about the renovations on their respective apartment and new house. I had nothing to add to the conversation, and felt embarrassed, as if my adult development was delayed. And as if I was somehow less than or a bad parent because I don’t own a place. And then the blame comes raining down—I wish I had been a better saver, I wish I had held higher paying jobs, I wish D made more money, even though by any normal standards he makes plenty more than enough (we just live in this way over-priced, trust fund bubble of Brooklyn), and like any of the home owners I know around here, I wish I had parents who passed down a place to us or were able to help us buy one. Obnoxious thoughts, but they are what they are. And of course then I was reminded to thank God that we have a place to live, even if it doesn’t belong to us, and can put a roof over our kids’ heads and live in a vibrant, diverse, safe neighborhood.

So it was with all of this baggage and this wanting-more-lens that I was watching the puppet theater performance at PS 3 through. As I watched these mostly 20-something’s sing and dance across the stage I started to stress a bit about how they were being paid, how much they were being paid, and how did they possibly pay their rents with what they were paid. In my head I was telling them to save their money, to go find better paying jobs, to move out of the city so that their future selves would be able to one day own a home for their children.

At one point in the performance, which focused on peace, Mahatma Gandhi came up. The actors spoke in a child-friendly way about his message of peace for the world, and a song and dance was performed with an Indian flair. Immediately I was shaken out of my misery, and reminded that God has a plan. He always has a plan. It was a kind of stay-the-course reminder that I may not have all the resources and answers that I would like to have, but God has always and will always take care of me. He is proving a way for my family and I to go have an adventure of a lifetime and live in Mumbai, India. Imaging myself at 40 did I ever think that I would have a chance to live in another country, let alone one that I have been enamored by since I was 5 years old? Nope, never.

Ghandi said, “Speak only if it improves the silence.” And since there is no way that what I would write would improve upon the music I’ll let D.B. have this one all to himself.

Changes

I still don’t know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
And every time I thought I’d got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I’ve never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I’m much too fast to take that test

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Don’t want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can’t trace time

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence and
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They’re quite aware of what they’re going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Don’t tell them to grow up and out of it
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Where’s your shame
You’ve left us up to our necks in it
Time may change me
But you can’t trace time

Strange fascination, fascinating me
Changes are taking the pace
I’m going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Oh, look out you rock ‘n rollers
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes
Pretty soon now you’re gonna get older
Time may change me
But I can’t trace time
I said that time may change me
But I can’t trace time