In these last balmy months of endless mid-morning slumber and evenings full of dusty skies, I've learned that nothing is permanent. Nothing, in the sense of what I have been most familiar with for the better years of my life.
I came to ugly grips with the stark reality of impermanent people and relationships years ago. I shed the callow skin of infatuation, soul-spilling serenades and hand-penned letters and traded it in for something much more practical and impenetrable.
But the halls of my home aren't as permanent or familiar, as is my childhood neighborhood. My bed, that used to curve perfectly around me as I drifted off to some unworldly, lucid place, suddenly feels like a tomb. Nothing here feels permanent anymore.
It's my last summer, and all familiarity has been rubbed away with time and age.
And I'm constantly moving. Going from here to there, point A to point B, incessantly. My spirit of adventure is undoubtedly being fulfilled, and it's invigorating. Rejuvenating, even. I am experiencing the world -- sight, smell, touch and taste at a time. No location is permanent, no location is too familiar.
I will be a stranger in a new city in five days, if only for 48 hours. But 48 hours is enough.
And I'm changing. Leadership, courage and boldness are taking the forefront; not by choice, but by necessity. And I'm learning that vulnerability does not equate to weakness, and desire is not a gateway to senseless hurt. Or at least, not every time.
And I'm coming to terms with honesty. The inner war field of 'the things I think' and 'the things I think I should say.' I so wish that I could honestly describe the things I have seen, and will see, this sepia-tinted season.
I wish I could formulate the words to describe what it feels like to watch the sun melt into the horizon from the Empire State Building, like a slowly-burning coal that had diamond potential. Or the way it feels to run my finger over adolescent initials carved into wood half a decade ago. Or how the heat radiates up from the pavement of city streets and only propels me to walk on harder toward my destiny. How the creek trickles all afternoon and how the big rock there -- my rock -- feels like a kingdom under the sun.
I want to whisper all of this, or say it all long-winded, or slip it out of my lips surreptitiously between sips of coffee, but that isn't reality. I simply don't have a recipient for all of this earnest honesty.
Until then, the paper and pen.