A Partial Death

 Today, in one of the pointless and worthless daydreams that constitute a large part of my inner life, I imagined being forever free from the Rua dos Douradores, from Vasques my boss, from Moreira the head bookkeeper, from all the employees, from the delivery boy, the office boy and the cat. In my dream I experienced freedom, as if the South Seas had offered me marvelous islands to be discovered. It would all be repose, artistic achievements, the intellectual fulfilments of my being.

But even as I was imagining this, during my miniature midday holiday in a café, an unpleasant thought assaulted my dram: I realized I would feel regret. Yes, I say it as if confronted by the actual circumstance: I would feel regret. Vasques my boss, Moreira the head bookkeeper, Borges the cashier, all the young men, the cheerful boy who takes letters t the post office, the boy who makes deliveries, the gentle cat - all this has become part of my life. And I wouldn't be able to leave it without crying, without feeling that - like it or not - it was a part of me which would remain with all of them, and that to separate myself from them would be a partial death.

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, text 7

Later in The Book of Disquiet, Pessoa reminds us that, "The Ganges passes by the Rua dos Douradores. All eras exist in this cramped room . . ." (text 420)  Lately, I've been thinking a lot about these two passages. Maybe it's becoming obvious to me that maybe I won't ever move to Portugal after I retire. It could be something as quotidian as my health: now that the Mayo Clinic has rejected my request for an appointment am I just going to slowly lose the ability to walk (or at least walk more than fifty yards) - and are my current heart problems going to be more than just a temporary annoyance and turn into something more truly dangerous or debilitating? Or maybe I'll just lose my courage (not that the previous issues doesn't impact this one) and I can't rally myself to face the challenge. Or, maybe, I'm starting to realize that I would miss this life, even my versions of Vasques and Moreira and the office boy.