happy birthday, my beloved
There's been so much lately I've wanted to write about.
There's the whole week in Spain, of course, the weekend in Paris, the charmed life at the Castle, the upcoming Carnivale celebrations.
But there's also these mini thoughts. And well, some fairly major ones.
As I just finished explaining to my sweetheart back home (home? yeah, home. one of the many. oh! revelations on home! more later),
as I just started explaining, it's the littlest times, the moments in which I am 100% present, that I cherish most. The beautiful things about these times is how impossible it is to capture them. Because once you realize you are in one, the moment is justeversoslightly diminished. So recollecting them is thus harder, and putting into words that essence of comfort, home, contentment, satisfaction becomes elusive.
Allene and I might have just had one. We're discussing why we feel we are friends with more Stoners as opposed to Drinkers (communities of mutual interest; based upon self-reliant happiness of common want versus community-reliant common need) and the phone down the hall rings. We look at each other. Should we answer it? I guess so, we're probably the only ones here. We start up, look over, sit down. Burst into laughter. We couldn't have choreographed more identical reactions.
I'm very happy here. I feel incredibly removed. Those sentences are independent of one another, though I wonder as to the connection.
I find difficulty in keeping up with everything. It pains me to know there are ones I love feeling so much - good, bad, ugly, glorious - that I have no idea about. Isn't that always the case, though? It's a lot of work to stay in touch. Work I very much enjoy, but work all the same. And ultimately so rewarding.
And just as I "entered" to try to formulate an analogy, one feel into my lap:
So facebook lets us know about everyone's birthday. And if you are on my friend's page, I will write you at the very least a "Happy Birthday!"
I would never expect to get a response from anyone to this. And yet, some people will write a message back saying thanks or what have you. Yet these people are rarely your best friends. Because that's just understood. So much is understood with best friends. I love that. And I guess that's it. Yeah.
So there's some stuff happening. I mean, there's a lot of stuff happening. I love being 20. I love the feeling of it. I love the independence, the responsibility, the legitimate concern about the future, the hopeless grappling for the past, the command of the present. I love the shape of my body; I finally like my smile, not because it's necessarily pretty, but because I own it. I like owning what is mine. I like meeting people and immediately discussing. I like evolving minds.
We are watching ourselves grow here. I've been feeling it for some time now and then today Alessandro brought it up. "I feel like, I feel like I'm getting older." The table unanimously, enthusiastically agreed. How strange. How...mature? Sure, I could always look back and see where I was and where I came from and how that differs to where I am. Then the next step was seeing where I was going (to whichever degree we can know) and to wonder as to how I would see then where I am now. Now this? Feeling the evolution? This is new. This is remarkable. Remarkable is a word I rather favor. Something worthy of remark.
This is all perspective, once again. It's my kick.
Allene has difficulty verbalizing sometimes. She is so bright, she has these beautiful ideas. Smokers expanding their minds, capturing a diffierent angle; Drinkers shutting out the present. Look what is there in the present! Look harder, look further! Tangential, minorly. I like when I understand what she's saying. When I try to put words to it and I've got it. I love that feeling with people - when you understand what they mean, what they want you to understand. There are few things more frustrating to me than poor communication.
The question of miss is interesting. I consciously miss very little. I miss the whole picture, but the whole picture is made up of minute details.
I hear someone banging around next door. It's someone I love. I know that without having to investigate. Man, how lucky I am to have that. And to know that.
It's Tom Kelly. He has his face painted like a lion. He is beautiful.
There are just some people - really, so many people - that I want in my life for all time. I want to dance at their weddings; I want them to come to summer barbecues at my house; I want to put their grandkids pictures on my refridgerator.
It's so easy to lose touch. And that's a loaded sentence. But it's never been easier not to.
The Day of the Wanderer. That's me. September 24th. Wander, Home, Keep in Touch. Literal and Metaphorical.
I'm growing up, before my very eyes. And my, does it feel nice.