Sometimes, we lose track of things.
People live at different speeds. We all have our expectations, the goals we wish to achieve and a certain direction we have chosen in life. Some of us dream big, some of us choose the simple life. Some people set out to find the ultimate rush, and some of us are just looking for someone to share the burden with.
I surf, or at least I used to. Surfing is all about the moment. It's just you and the ocean, and this fleeting sense of weightlessness, as if you're walking on water. One moment it's there, and it's there for you and only you. And then it's gone, and you're left with this unique sense of wonder. Every wave is different, and every wave stays with you for the rest of your days.
Somewhere along the way I lost track of the fact I'm a moments guy. I've never achieved an ultimate sense of happiness through the fulfillment of a lifelong goal, or by working at something for a very long time. Those things have given me a certain amount of satisfaction, but they never even compared to those precious few perfect moments I revisit every day.
That one perfect wave. That particular sunset. That band, at the right place and the right time. That one look, that precious smile and the promise that right there and then, the whole world makes sense.
And then it's gone.
There's no sadness. Sure, years later we'll revisit some of these moments and realise we will never be able to recreate the raw emotions we felt in that magic instance outside reality. Some of it's just gone, never to return. But that's the point. The beauty of life is supposed to be that it's fleeting, that eventually everything will pass and one day we will close our eyes for the final time.
I've been in London for six weeks now, and if there's one thing I've learned it's that I completely lost sight of the things that used to make me happy. I don't make plans. I'm not a schemer. Things just happen, and I was blessed with the mind of a five-year old. I might do more dumb stuff than I care to admit, but I also have the ability to be amazed by the simplest things.
It's how I can spend weeks being excited about something as lame as March Madness. How I can watch a horrible episode of How I Met Your Mother only to tear-up at a final montage. How I somehow manage to read all of Eloise and Abelard in three freaking days.
No, London hasn't been great to me. It's been an unmitigated disaster, and barring some kind of divine intervention, it will all be over very, very soon. I love my job, but that is truly the only positive I can take from the experience so far. I really hope I get the opportunity to make this last because six weeks is far too short, but as of right now, let's just say it's not likely.
But I'm starting to wonder whether it might not be for the best, because I'm not quite sure this is who I am. Actually, I know this is not who I am. But it might also not be who I want to be. I mean, for 25 years I've had the feeling I didn't belong, like I wasn't supposed to be here. Except for those moments.
Maybe things will change. I've yet to make friends in this place, and for all I know I might meet the most amazing people tomorrow. As much as I might enjoy my solitude, humans dig the herd. We like telling ourselves we don't, but we do.
I don't think it's likely though. Most of the people I've met so far are pretentious idiots. And I'm quite pretentious myself, so imagine what these folk must be like.
So I just keep plugging away. I keep on working, writing article upon article hoping I might have a future here. I'm absolutely terrified, but it has nothing to do with me losing my job or having to leave the country (it's a backwards piece of **** anyway). I'm just scared of what'll come next. How things will be different. Things changed so drastically last year, and sometimes we need a bit of continuity, something we know. Something to hold on to.
I know I'll be fine. In the grand scheme of things, my problems aren't so bad. I have food, and clothes, and people that care about me. Whatever comes next, I'll probably end up on my feet. I just don't know where, or how, or when. Or even if, but that's an entirely different conversation and not one I'm willing to have on a piece of digital paper my parents will most definitely be reading.
This is what it's like in my head. I worry, constantly. There's no shutting down this constant maelstrom of thoughts and its effect on my mental state. People sometimes tell me I'm crazy, and they're probably right. Everybody needs a bit of craziness in their life, but there are lines we shouldn't cross. And I feel like the drunk driver at 5 in the morning, forced to somehow follow said line to the very end. Always swaying one way or the other. Unless I'm surfing, or having one of my moments I guess.
If I can leave you with some final thoughts, it's these two:
1) Hold onto your friends. For some reason I thought it'd be a good idea to spend most of my time travelling and teaching surfing and kind off abandoning the people closest to me, and the results were predictable. I know it's corny, but you really don't realise what it is you have until you lose it. Little Brother, if you're reading this: Stop looking up to me. I'm not your hero. You have to do better. Maybe that's why we have older brothers; so we can watch them and avoid making the same mistakes. You have friends, you have family. Keep them close.
2) Watch Searching For Sugar Man. It's so good. The music, the story: I nearly cry every time I watch the grand finale. Seriously, watch it.
See? Mind of a five-year old. Of all the skills you'll pick up along the way, there is no greater tool than childlike wonder. Unless it's the formula to picking up girls. Because I'm really crappy at that.
I miss you guys.
Adios.
Song of the day: Sixto Rodriguez-Sugar Man
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyE9vFGKogs
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten