A year and a half since I last sat down to write. When I brought my computer outdoors with me, I knew subconsciously that it was to write again. I have always dreaded in my mind the next writing session. I thought I would be seized with nervousness, and thoughts would crowd my mind with my hands frozen, incapable of taking notes. And the moment would pass, as have so many other in the past, like opportunities lost, or lives that could have been lived. But now...
A balmy balmy Saturday afternoon. In a city like no other, a life being lived like any other. A chilly breeze outside makes me feel warm and happy to be inside a coffee shop with the homely smell of roasting coffee, and a strangely comforting Moroccan decor. What am I doing here? So much has changed, and yet, nothing has changed. I live alone now in Seattle, the most beautiful city I've ever seen. I see the waterfront through the glass windows. The Pacific Ocean, in some shape and form makes its presence felt in the city. Distant snow capped peaks beyond the water. What lies beyond the peaks? China and Russia on the other side. It is already mid day tomorrow on the east coast of Russia now. How can today and tomorrow exist at the same time?
I am just as clueless about the future, and just as nostalgic about the past as I was before. The essential and existential questions of life still plague me. I realize how fake my own claim of maturity is. I know nothing more than I did yesterday. Its just that I do a better job of faking faking composure today than I did in the past. I am aware of a certain bubble I live in, and how little I try to step out of it. Is this what growing up is all about? A passive acceptance of the gradually growing impossibilities in life and trying to create happiness within a well defined world?
I guess this is why everyone longs to be a student, or a kid back again. No one can tell you something is impossible when you are a kid. The confidence that comes from not knowing the word impossible is what makes those years so wonderful. But life is not all about the past. The passing moment too is magical in its own way. How do I capture it, and make it last? Or at least, leave a mark on it and in my heart, to always remember fondly? How do I battle 'impossible', and be a kid again?
Gentle rain begins to pour. The ocean seems like a hazy promise of permanence in the distance.
I always hope for a lightning bolt of wisdom in moments of contemplation like these, and when nothing of the sort occurs I end up feeling more lost and little than ever. I get that familiar feeling, and I prepare to leave.
The rain and breeze will be cold, but it is only a short walk back home.
