Don't Know What You Don't Got Til It's There

A few thoughts ran through my head after my parents sat us down and informed us that our house was going up for sale. I couldn't believe that soon I wouldn't be able to jump off the diving board into our Better Homes & Gardens swimming pool, the one fully equipped with the outer picket fence and polaris that shimmied through the water and removed any unsightly debris. I wondered how there could ever be a house to replace this one that would always be my childhood home. My mind passed through a few more thoughts along these lines, until I got to the one where I was scared that I would be pulled away from the girl I loved, the one I needed to be with.

It turned out that we would only be moving one block over, in the same neighborhood, going to the same schools, being with the same people. To my relief, I wouldn't have to lose her, wouldn't have to say goodbye, wouldn't have to make a last-second confession of my true feelings as we embraced in a farewell kiss amidst a suddenly appearing thunderstorm. Not in 13 years of my life had I felt something like this, and I didn't know how it could get any better.

She had it all. She was pretty. She was nice. She was pretty. I knew everything about her: her middle name, what period she had earth science, her favorite movie. I'd never told her how I felt, even though I knew deep down she felt the same. Maybe one day our love would bring us together.



We slowly made our way down the stairs among the masses of people trying to get outside and call for the nearest cab. I censored my real opinions when responding to my friends' questions about what I thought of the opera we'd just seen. It wasn't yet appropriate to say that I found the brass poorly tuned and the solo singers uninspired. That wasn't the bottom line of this night. What really mattered was that we'd just seen the opera, that it was something available for us to experience, and that we did it. In the end, that made the night a success.

A few nights later, these friends were among others gathered in my dining room. It was the second or third of what we hoped would become a tradition: Sunday dinner. It was an event I'd once spoken so fondly of as a staple of my Italian and Puerto Rican roots, something I'd done with my family in my days back home. These people wanted to experience that too. We were still getting to know each other, part of our own new family of aspiring Ph.D.'ers. Among the outstanding food, laughs, photographs, and stories of days past, it became apparent that we could have an invaluable scrapbook together 5 years down the road.

These were things I'd never felt were possible at a similar magnitude in my former city. There were many lonesome days there. I'm not going to lie: I was happy to say goodbye to that town. I'd long grown tired of knowing that about the half the time, the highlight of my slowly crawling day would be whenever I laughed at something said online.

It wasn't that I didn't meet great people there (because I did) or that I didn't find anything there for me (because I did). What happened was that through my occasional visits to the city I'd later call my home, I knew that any happiness I felt I had in my life at the time paled in comparison to what I could have when surrounded by a backdrop that better suited the needs of an inspired guy in his mid-twenties trying to find himself among a diverse culture he'd felt isolated from.



After I gained more years of life and maturity, I was able to laugh at myself and my distorted perceptions of love. To think that despite the warnings from my elders that 13-year-olds don't know what love is, I thought, exactly like everybody else did at the time, that I was like nobody else at the time. I was different.

Years later, with a far-different girl in a far-different life, I knew what it meant to love. I'd never seen that I needed to go beyond knowing what made her laugh and cry to WHY she was touched in those ways, what mattered enough to her to touch her soul. I'd never seen that I could find someone as beautiful lying pale sick in bed as when she'd spent 2 hours getting ready for our date. I'd never seen that many of the sacrifices I made for true love didn't seem at all like sacrifices at the time.

I never knew this until I had it.



When my friends from past lives have called to hear how I'm doing, I never fail to convey how refreshed I am to enjoy the present day. My situation today is what I've been saying I wanted for over a year now, and when the opportunity came for life to call my bluff, I didn't back down. I took the chance and am reaping the benefits.

It has nothing to do with feeling I'm doing something meaningful and special with my days. It has nothing to do with randomly bumping into Bob Dylan or Pootietang. It has nothing to do with the knowledge that I can essentially hear any music I want in a matter of months. It has nothing to do with walking by restaurants serving food I could only pray to experience. It has nothing to do with spending my days surrounded by people of all colors, names of origin, sexualities, ideals, outlooks, and personalities.

It has everything to do with knowing I'm taking full advantage of the entire package.



She called because she was concerned about me. I'd sent her an e-mail the night before and explained the bad news. He probably had cancer, but we'd find out in a few days. It was possible that this could be the last Christmas with him around.

I was taking the news rather well, she said. She'd heard me tell many stories about my grandfather and thought there'd probably be a void there if he were gone. She was right. Having lost my other grandfather when I was 8, he's the only grandfather I've known since I could appreciate those relationships. I'd miss him for sure.

She wondered why I didn't seem sad on the phone. It didn't sound like I was in denial or that I didn't love him. Neither statement would have been true. What happened is that when I'd moved into close-enough distance to him, I'd made the effort to make an ocasional visit. We had new memories and stories the rest of my family didn't share. I didn't know if one day there'd be cancer, but I did know that his funeral would have to come some day.

When we got the news about cancer, I didn't know if I'd see him for much longer, but I did know that I took advantage of the time I'd had. I'd never be satisfied, always wanting one more day with him, but I'd always have comfort in knowing that each present day would pass without regret. I wasn't ready to say goodbye, but if I had to, at least I'd know I did what I could.



I'd always heard you don't see what you've got until it's gone. It seemed to me that with the important things, I didn't see what I was missing until I found it. In the meantime, I'll just keep looking.