Regeneration X (7 page)

She was head over heels in love and surprised by the fact, since she didn’t think it could happen again. And now, while she told herself their relationship was fine, truthfully she wished it was better—at least a little back to the way it used to be. This was unfair. Because Michael was set in his ways, and had
an everything is just fine attitude
, he was boring, just like her; together they were even more so. Personally, fine was not enough. And she couldn’t accept the “to each their own” fallback—not when most things a person does directly affects another. After so long it seemed they had grown complacent. They needed a swift kick and she hoped to inspire the opportunity.

・ ・ ・

When Michael came home, Charley gave him a glimpse of these inner workings and he expressed his thoughts in an all too realistic way. After he had spoken, she thought,
if I wanted boring realism, I might as well have talked to my sister!

“You can’t appreciate life when it’s happening. Ever notice how scary moments or bad times become great life experiences—or even funny memories—after time has passed? It’s as if we need time to process what’s happening, and only then can we appreciate it. Do you remember each and every moment of every day when you think you were the happiest?”

“No, but in general life was more exciting or at least more spontaneous.”

 
“But you still did laundry, washed dishes, and mopped the floor. Are you saying that those things were more enjoyable in the past?”

 
“You’re not getting my gist. I really mean life-changing moments were better. Doing laundry, washing dishes, and mopping the floor aren’t any worse now than they were in the past. It’s just, those times which really matter in life that are missing or
blah
.”

He followed up with a rebuttal. “All right, but do you remember when we went to Rome how miserable we were in the cold and you were sick? Didn’t you say you’d never plan a vacation to go anywhere in a cold season again?”

This was going nowhere; she was not convincing him. “I know. I just asked you if you wanted to go to Paris for Christmas,” she said exasperated. “Okay, you’ve made your point, life is always better after the fact. But can you understand? I just feel as if those memory-making times are fewer nowadays. And my memories don’t have the same impact. I just don’t feel the same.

“For example our drive cross country when we moved here, should have been an adventure, but it was just a drive—getting from one place to another. It should’ve been something that made me feel something, but
I didn’t
. It just happened, almost as if it wasn’t an experience I had at all, but a short story I heard about.

“Take a look at our photo albums over the past ten years or so. Ask yourself, what are you going to ‘appreciate after time has passed’? Then you tell me, maybe I’m going on about nothing.”

“I know our lives have settled down. I don’t think about it as much as you do. Possibly because I like the way things are.”

December 15, 2024

You have possibly heard of the phrase “living in the moment” and you may subscribe to this as a mantra to live by, but what if you feel you already have, or would rather be, ‘living in another moment’?

I’m not sure who I’m writing to; must be the ever-attentive self. I need someone to address, so bear in mind ‘you’ is me.

Anyway, I’ve always had an odd feeling of being out of place and time. I must have been someone else, somewhere else in a past life. I’ve heard stories of people who remember past lives; speak languages and tongues in their sleep; or have instants of regression, which they do not when conscious. I find myself connected to different eras, as if they hold a personal meaning I just don’t remember. I think it’s probably more that I’m grasping at straws since, even more now I don’t like the direction this country is going. And I don’t know if it’s the same everywhere. Maybe in Japan or China where technology has always been embraced as progress, but I don’t think Europe would allow itself to be sucked into this trap, its history is too long and its culture too strong.

Realistically, the life I live now is probably better suited to this millennium—the virtually social age—than I feel comfortable with in my heart. Then again, it’s probably the reason why I choose the seclusion I do. I wonder if it’s been difficult for all people in my generation? Somewhere out there someone, or many someones, are writing or feeling the same thing.

If I could choose to live in a moment, I think I would like to experience a simpler life when local shops carried specific goods, i.e. not one-stop shops, where being among society was the same as being among your neighbors, friends and family. The celebrated individuals were innovators, creators and explorers, not famous performers; and education and development was a personal goal, not an incentivized company program.

And this would never happen here, so if given the opportunity to live abroad … I’d take it.

Would I take it? Likely not, there is too much holding me back.

If it were my choice alone, I’d take it. I would take it I tell you!

Instead, what kind of existence do I have now? I have everything; it’s true, only it’s the middle of the road. I’m not beautiful, but depending on the beholder, still pretty. I’m not smart, but bright; not witty, but quick. I’m not wealthy, but we get by. I’m not especially funny, but I can be amusing. I’m not creative, but rather crafty in the simple artistic sense. And it’s been a long long time since I’ve been socially popular. Now I am specifically loyal, superficially friendly, and generally isolated … it goes on and on in every aspect of my reality, physicality, and personality.

As I said, I have everything, but I’m so average.

Charley thought these were the feelings a middle child felt, only she was the youngest of four and doubted whether Sarah or James, the actual middle kids of the Avery household, ever felt this way. They both exuded too much confidence to think themselves average. Lise, pronounced “Lisa” was the oldest, a brilliant, now retired mathematician. Then came Sarah, an executive in a high profile technological innovations company; followed by James, who founded and operated an adventures company for those seeking an adrenaline rush. Of them all, Charley felt she was probably the most mediocre with the most ordinary life. The most independently drastic thing she had ever done was move away from the secure comforts of home, across the country.

Lise, Sarah, and James were all three years apart in age. Six years after James’ birth, when Charley was born, the Averys had been expecting another boy. It wasn’t something they knew, or needed to know, for sure; the evidence was in the Avery and Webb family history. Maxwell Avery, their father, came from a family of four children, two girls and two boys and so did their mom, Margaret Anne Webb. Thus, the baby was to be named Charles Rhys Avery. Upon Charley’s arrival, instead, she was named Charlotte Rhys Avery. Rhys was traditionally the spelling of the name used for boys, but her mother didn’t like either girl spelling, Reese or Reece.

Charley’s name was possibly the one aspect about herself for which she had no complaints. She didn’t mind being called Charlotte; she liked the sound of it, nor did she mind the boy spelling of her middle name. She felt it was a stamp of uniqueness her parents had gifted her. And Avery, as a word, for her meant
home
. She’d had a wonderful childhood; good relationships with her siblings; and loved her parents dearly. It was always herself she struggled to define. For roughly 30 years she worked to find the identity to go along with the name; always trying new things, but never quite getting it right. She had taken up the clarinet, then the piano, and then the flute, but as of today, she did not play a musical instrument. She’d changed her major at least five times in college before settling on English, which she had already majored in her sophomore year. She even did two study abroad programs, in France and England. All was not exactly for naught, but it was not for some profound self-revelation either.

Charley was given a couple of telling nicknames, which her entire family, on particularly illustrative occasions, called her to this day. She reminisced on the day she had come home during a school break and announced a change of course once again. Her first endearment had been bestowed.

“I’m going to call you
Cravery
from now on,” James proclaimed. “Get it? C. R. Avery … sounds awfully close to
crazy
.” He playfully jabbed at Charley.

“Let’s see if we can use it in a sentence,” Lise teased. “You’re cravery! Oh yeah, this is gonna to come in handy—a completely sensible and useful phrase.”

“It’s pretty versatile as far as nicknames go. Call me cravery, but I’m craverying a big piece of chocolate cake—no marionberry pie, no homemade chocolate chip cookies.” Charley joined in and laughed, not in the least offended.

“Since we have a definition, it would be a seven letter word in Scrabble. We just have to agree that cravery is not a proper noun.” Their father said this in all seriousness; cast a questioning glance toward his wife.

“Oh now she’s a Scrabble word. I guess she’s earned it, but I think Boggle is more like it,” James interjected.

“Now, you’re just talking cravery,” Sarah laughingly piped in. She lightly placed her hands over Charley’s ears as if to shield her from the name-calling.

 
“You all stop picking on your younger sister,” their mom chided. “Max,
cravery
at seven letters would be 15 points, but the most beneficial would be at eleven letters and 20 points if we manage to come up with
craveryings
. That wouldn’t be bad.”

Good times
, she smiled in remembrance.
I guess, I have lived up to my name, she sighed at the thought. I’m not as flaky any more—on the outside at least
. By the time Charley and Michael wed in 2008, she had progressively transformed; she was content, responsible, and levelheaded. Subsequent to their wedding, after reams of paperwork had been filled out at ten different offices; she changed her information on all her online accounts, updated her driver’s license, and applied for a new passport. Her surname was officially Fenn. She had mixed feelings then and 16 years later still does.
 

Men probably didn’t understand why it should make any difference, but ironically, there were still very few instances of males taking the surnames of their beloveds’ families when they married. Maybe they thought,
what’s the big deal?
If they thought about it at all. Even unmarried people changed their names all the time, but it was usually because the person did not identify with the name they had been given. Therefore, the expectation that a woman should take a new name after she’s married is an archaic practice. It once signified a maiden leaving her family for another and also as a symbol of her belonging to someone else, a possession. It didn’t need to be this way anymore; it wasn’t even a feminist notion since gender equality was almost balanced in this day and age. Someday, perhaps even the words feminism, gender bias, and the like would be cast off to an obsolete-word dictionary.

Charley wasn’t blaming anyone but herself, no one forced her. Nonetheless, if she knew it would feel so foreign, she wouldn’t have become a Fenn. It had nothing to do with any regret for having married Michael; on the contrary, marrying Michael was the best decision she had ever made.

If she and Michael had children, their children would be more Fenn than she could ever be. She adored Michael’s family too; she just wasn’t one of them. Family was memories, support, and care in times when you needed those values most. When it occurred to her before, she’d thought to address it with Michael. But each time, after all this time, she wondered what would be the point. She wasn’t even sure if he
would
be upset.

While she thought about this, for the moment, the least of her worries was her surname. She was instead struggling with the idea that this was going to be her life for as long as she would live—work, eat, sleep, earn enough time and money for a couple of weeks off every year, and for the rest of the time dwell on things that didn’t truly matter just to have some distraction. She was feeling a little let down.
I’m back where I started, and the choices I make are not my own—or mine alone—to bear.

Chapter Six

We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d;

Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled:

Be not disturb’d with my infirmity.

—William Shakespeare,
The Tempest (5.1)

・
・
・

CHARLEY’S LIFE WAS UN-MOLDABLE, AND SINCE MICHAEL seemed unwilling to consider the options she’d suggested, she was stumped for another solution. Every year she fell into this malaise and remedied her burnout with a short vacation. Putting her trust in the strength of willpower, she hoped in time Dr. Baum could see her clear of this finally.

“I’ve thought a lot about where we left off with last time. At first, I felt empowered and motivated. But again, it became clear my choices affect others. I have responsibilities and am a responsible person—another thing which can’t be helped.”

“Charley, feeling confident to make choices for even a moment is a step further from feeling helpless all the time. Right now, the goal is progression, so don’t feel you have to make impactful decisions now. Instead, try to get comfortable with the idea that you can; even so far as considering all the choices that you currently make every day.”

“So try to recognize all the choices I make for myself, but also recognize that in making those choices I choose for others, but they can accept my choice or not. I understand. It goes both ways. For example, I choose fluoride-free toothpaste, if Michael uses it he’s agreeing with my choice; otherwise he can make his own preference.”

“Essentially, yes, but I simply want you to recognize that you are making choices, and, no matter how small, they are still choices. While the people in your life are important and effect how you lead your life, you’re the one who feels helpless; it’s your influence and actions you need to recognize. So for the time being try to not worry about what others choose, even Michael. Ripples result from every choice, we cannot account for them all. To influence is the best any of us can do.”