I Wonder…

A small idea that led to a second chance.

I’m at a crossroads. I could get all groovy and go on a tear about Yoga Nidra. Or I could simply note that I strongly believe we can make things happen in our lives by sheer will.

I’ll spare you the grooviness.

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Happy to share.

Just take my word for it. You can will events to happen in your life.

During COVID-19, and no doubt due to the separation it caused, I began to think of connectedness and relationships. And more than the thought, I wanted to do something about it, although I wasn’t sure exactly what.

When I get stuck like that, I go to a trick a dear friend taught me many years ago. I put an “I wonder” into the universe.

Her “I wonder” theory was this: if you have a mostly unformed idea or want and you desire to see it happen, you say something along the lines of “I wonder what it would take to make ‘xyz’ happen.” Or “I wonder what it would look like if ‘xyz’ could happen.” And then you let it go. Just let it go. And stop thinking about it. Almost like meditation.

I’ve done this many times since I first heard the idea, and more often than not, whatever it is ends up happening. Not right away, but in time.

My brother Dan lives in Las Vegas. I’ve mentioned him before (as I wrote in “Why I Hate the New York Yankees”). As brothers, we of course have a long history. More recent history can best be summed up by noting we can both be stubborn assholes. I more so, because I’m older, more practiced, and probably more genetically predisposed.

This assholedness led to years of zero verbal communication as Dan and I lived our lives in different parts of the country. The few times we saw each other face-to-face, the silence continued. These included the funeral of a dear uncle and the funeral of our father.

Deaths in the family weren’t going to interfere with our being assholes toward each other.

No siree. We attended the funerals, carried the casket, and didn’t speak either time.

I’m not proud of how firmly I dug in my heels with this behavior. Regret is grist for another column someday—but not today. I do think the first step in reversing regret is recognizing your own culpability.

But one day, four years ago, a thought came to me, out of nowhere, but really, out of the universe. I wanted to reconnect with Dan. It came fast and clear, and I knew immediately it was related to the long-ago “I wonder.”

So, I just did it. Boom. Done. Sent the email.

He replied immediately. A few emails led to a Zoom call, which is now a 2+ hour call every month. We’ve both noticed that when these calls start, we sometimes wonder what we’re going to talk about, and the next thing we know, two hours have passed.

This week I visited Dan in Las Vegas—the first time we’ve seen each other since our father’s funeral nine years ago.

I can’t honestly put a finger on my emotion in advance of seeing him—was it nervousness? Excitement? Rather than get caught up in that, I put another “I wonder” out into the universe and sauntered on.

What did I notice? Putting the “I wonder” gave me the opportunity to just be in the moment; the rest took care of itself. I set aside those unproud parts of me which are asshole-like, got out of my own way, and met with my brother. And I thoroughly loved it.

Yes, we’re different, but so what? As a kid, he was blonde and blue-eyed. I had brown hair and brown eyes. Now neither of us has hair. Which is to say—literally–—so what” to the differences?

What we share is genetics and history. And at this time in our respective lives, it means something. It means everything.

The whole “time” thing once again. (I got into this in “This Is a Hella Good One.”)

And the “I wonder” continued…

Some fraternity brothers from Rutgers ZBT had sadly been together last fall after the death of another of our brothers. At the funeral in New Jersey, someone said what everyone was thinking: there had to be a better way for us all to get together besides funerals.

So, a trip to Vegas was planned.

These other brothers—the ones from Rutgers ZBT. We’re also bound. Not by genetics, but by history, and by a time in all our lives that will always be special and sacred. A time when each of us was breaking out of the mold made for us by our family of origin and trying to carve a separate identity from the family cocoon. Some—like me—were seeking to reinvent, others to recommit to what had served them to that point. We studied (some more than others). We played (some more than others). We created a legacy of a dance marathon at Rutgers that continues on campus to this day, a story I told in “Dance Marathon.”

We began our time in Vegas by toasting the life of our friend Mario and then had three wonderful days together.

We can’t turn back time, but we used that time—so long ago—as the glue that brought us back together to reconnect and celebrate. To honor friendships as brothers. Perhaps a little frailer, but definitely wiser and more grateful.

To mark a time—then and now.

All this from an “I wonder” six years ago.

Sometimes I’m not sure whether what I do with these columns is a lecture to my readers or a pep talk to myself.

Sometimes it’s a little of both.

TL;DR: Time doesn’t fix things. But sometimes it gives you one more shot.

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