It is such a cold day for a warm walk. Lean into me as you would the wind. Feel the radiance that emanantes from my core, and understand we are living. We are awake, cognizant, breathing creatures and that in itself is cause for celebration. Yet to want more: an exchanging of warmth as I press my hand against your chilled face, a contrast of tones, the cascade of snow disrupting the still of what surrounds us. Here exist all the subtleties of affection, laced in the ferocity of winter.
- Adam: I don't own sweatpants.
- me: Why not?
- Adam: They're a downward spiral. One day, you are going to be asking, "Where are my good sweatpants?" That's when you know your life is never going to improve.
Our world moves at lightning speeds, where being able to multitask has become the norm and our relationships with people have become so fragmented. We live in a world where we are with real people yet constantly check our phones for the latest news because we cannot stand the idea of losing connections. I wonder what I could accomplish were I to actually give something my undivided attention.
You know that feeling you get when you hit the perfect high-five with someone? It creates a sensation that stays for a while after. I think that perhaps life is about finding these kinds of impacts, the experiences that linger with you long after they have come to their conclusions, the things that resonate in the recesses of your being. Simply, they are our reasons to live.
There is something strangely compelling in knowing that somewhere, you have made a conscious decision to read this post, substantiating its value and creating a connection between us as you view the corners of my brain. What kind of things would we talk about were you here in person? What do you dream of? I will never see the corners of your mouth crinkle up with amusement, your arms crossed in a particular way, the way you bite your nails when you are nervous, or the blissful sparkle in your eyes. There are infinitely many variations of how our interaction could occur, and simply imagining the possibilities makes me excited for the day. We transform every second, so we cannot go back in time. We are new people.
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the words,
and never stops at all.” —Emily Dickinson
One of my friends here has the best attitude of anyone I’ve ever met. We affectionately call him “honey badger.” Rather than stressing over things he cannot control or beating himself up when things don’t go his way, he says, “It’s no big deal. This just means that it’s time for a new me.” Granted, he has a lot of fresh starts, but I admire that about him. You don’t have to tell anyone else. Internally, it’s about waking up and starting with a blank slate.
New day, new me.