Now We Just Sleep Walk and Drift Through the Week
Here I sit; typing away with my computer screen offering the serene glow that provides, in a roundabout way, a sense of calmness and clarity. How a simple computer monitor can allow this to occur I just don’t know. But none the less, here I sit.
My window is cracked ever so slightly. Just enough to let the coolness of the October night filter in, while keeping the pesky rain drops at bay. While others might refer my room to that of a meat locker right now, I’m perfectly content in the chilly, yet comfortable abode that I call home when writing these posts.
There is something almost nostalgic in the cool air tonight. Part of me is reminded of my care-free youth in Alberta, where such October night’s as this is not all uncommon. Other parts remind me a few short years ago when life had seemingly no direction and I was simply going through the paces in search of the path in which to move forward. It’s funny, and maybe it’s just me, but if you think back a few years ago, or even last year, and you thought about where you would be sitting right now, would you have said the place you are while you read this? I know that for me, it’s not even close.
Mind you, I don’t know where it is that I would have said I’d be. It could have been a variance of places; from the Rockies out west the islands of the south, the world is my playground. Or at least it is when I close my eyes and imagine all the places I could go.
Being a writer, or at the very least, an aspiring one, I like to think of sitting on a beach, toes buried in the sand and soaking up the sun, writing a few pages here and a few pages there, all methodically placed as part of a random book that seems like it should be put onto paper. And yet, at the same time, I envision sitting in a wooden cabin, buried deep in the middle of no where, pen in hand, jotting down character sketches and plot lines as I watch the winter’s snow drift ever so softly across the window that looks onto a frozen lake. Whichever fairytale I envision, it seems like my own little utopia.
Lately, my thoughts have been jumbled, and as a result, have been personified in a rather obscure blog post that lacks direction, but never conviction. Either way, the feelings that sway back and forth through this confused and scattered mind, seem to make sense. I can’t believe that I am attributing this revelation to the mere fact that the temperature outside, and subsequently in this room, is in single digits.
In the last few weeks I’ve gone through a roller coaster of emotions. I won’t make the attempt to compare it a real roller coaster, as I’m sure it’s dips and swirls lack in comparison. On top of that, the rides only last for a short period of time. I can’t say that I’m upset about this, even though the obvious answer is to have never had certain events occur in my life in the first place. But I’ve learned a few things that I might otherwise not have.
I had a flow to this going, albeit a very unorganized one, but since taking my dog for a walk, I’ve seemed to have lost a fraction of focus. However, being outside, only confirmed that I love a single digit temperature. I know that I am, for the most part, alone with this, but that’s OK, I enjoy the solitude it brings.
I sometimes question where I am in life, literally and even figuratively. Part of me wishes there was a simple solution that would reveal itself at any moment. The other part of me, however, kind of enjoys the spontanaeity that is involved with not knowing what life will present me with next. I think that it is in those moments, those moments of absolute uncertainty, that we gather the most pleasure from the whirlwinds of life. Time flies by, moments never seem to meander for very long before disappearing back to the very place they were created and the times we wish would linger just a few minutes longer, seem to accelerate if for no other reason to spite the waning for more. I like this.
I like it because it re-instills the very idea that life is what we make it, and the choices we make help map out the steps not yet taken. While it may be a fickle thing to try and capture, these moments are forever ingrained in our memories and can never be taken away. So while we feel like we lose at the time; in the end we come out on top.
I feel as though I should be telling this story in a boozy kind of after hours hole in the wall place, where the lights flicker above and our shadows provide the only true listening companion to this tale of misinterpreted, jumbled thought. None the less, you are my audience tonight, and like or not, have stayed on long enough for this to come to a conclusion. Or maybe you got bored and moved on. Whichever path you chose, I’m sure you’ll be content with it.
As I sit here typing away, with Wilco playing in the background, I’ve come to the realization that writing is one of the truest and most emotionally connected mediums in which to express, well, just about anything and everything. While people have told me I am in possession of some type of gift for being able to plot sentences down, that for the most part, make sense. I think we all have it in us to do so, it’s whether we choose to do so and in the ways we go about it.
The more I write, the more I feel at home, in the most metaphorical way. I don’t know exactly why, nor do I wish to ever fully figure it out. What I can be certain of right now, though, is that having this ability to escape the “real” is a pretty cool thing, and I will be forever thankful for being able to do it.
So until next time, dear friends. May your trials and tribulations be short and your successes extend for the remainder of your days.
