I’m running now. I’ve been running for years in my own mind, but I’ve never actually gotten anywhere. At 19 it was UNC; I was going to transfer and start a new life to escape Carly and UMASS, and my washed up, depressed self. I needed new friends, I thought. I needed motivation, optimism, to get away from black winters and a grey springtime.
It’s crossed my mind that I may be trying to run from something I can’t escape, that the grey clouds and dark skies sit deep within me, and seeing them is merely a reminder of the daily things I cannot stand, a reflection of the dark i’m coping with. At least feeling the sun on my face would show me beauty, i thought, and witnessing the simple happiness inherit in nature can override the inherent unhappiness that I carry. Yes, I’ve thought of this quite a bit, I fear it actually. Stupid psychology majors.
You can’t run from yourself, that’s for sure.
When driving from Dallas to Fort Worth I compared the cities using my gut, which is something I’ve just started to do in recent years. Thinking about things logically has gotten me to where I am, has made me successful (by society's definition), but now that I’ve reached that goal, I’ve begun to focus on my personal happiness, something you need emotions for. On exams, for instance, I started just reading the questions and going with the first answer I thought of. Our first choices, our instinctual decisions, are usually right.
In the uber, I thought of my situation as an exam question to see what came up first, and the answer shocked even me. “If you could run anywhere, be anywhere, where would you be?” My immediate thought— it was more of a picture actually, like a snapshot of the most ideal place— I was chasing Kasi Stout down the street, she was on her bike, barefoot as usual. East Mountain Ave was busy, Mike and Albert chasing each other, me running down the sidewalk— which appeared wider than the street itself. The sun was high above us, and the world around our dirty faces was green with grass running wild.
It’s funny how obvious this is and how blinded I've been with this linear life— always working to move forward, always progressing and building a future. The first destination that came to mind wasn’t a place at all, it was a time. It was my childhood, it was innocence and being carefree, it was dirty and sweaty on a summer day, baseball practice in the backyard, and karate lessons on weekend nights. It was Albert running around looking for hard cover books to shelter us from the tornado— every, single, day. What a beautiful place that was.
I’m sitting on the floor of the Austin airport now. I’ve done this before, quite a lot actually; in Boston, Dublin, Switzerland, France, DR, Puerto Rico, Canada, Copenhangen, San Francisco, New York, etc. In my short 26 years, I have been to a lot of places. I plan to see many many more, and even return to some that I’ve already been to.
But the one place I can’t go back is in time. The life I've been seeking, the place I am homesick for, is gone. It doesn't even exist.
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