68: h(our)

Love ruled my world yesterday, and I was forced to sleep at 9 p.m. to detoxify my being of sadness, but today, logic seems to have returned.

Thank goodness: We missed you, second L.

Proof: I just ate a good-sized portion of homemade stir-fry, filled with veggies, whole grains and tofu. I had dessert with soy milk (for protein) after that, and then I drank some tomato juice. Logic brought back my appetite.

I read a book on trauma (which I will talk about later) during this whole eating ritual, and I was interrupted only once by my downstairs neighbor, who came upstairs to bring me fresh-baked delicacies from her own kitchen.

Today, all of my experiences of today, have brought me back the balance, and my ruling stanza is this: Life goes on. Life is beautiful, it’s a series of ordinary infused with beautiful — moments that feel like a breath of crisp mountain air, whether it’s love coloring mundane events or the simple kindness of neighbors.

I was thinking today, it’s not just those things. It’s independence too. I value my full independence the most, and that’s probably why I’m still here and not back home. And I visit it often during my days, acknowledging its power, addressing its presence in smaller portions of my day.

I like to take my breaks from work at a local coffee shop, where I sit in front of giant windows and gaze into the endless stretch of sky as I sip coffee from a mug and every now and then glance down into my book. I enjoy these times: They seem to center me, and anything that’s happening during my day flies right out that window. In those times too I find my sanctuary, where I can think about the same thing all I want, obsess about what’s in my mind without having anyone tell me it’s abnormal … or that I look pensive … or that I should perhaps seek help or move on or find better things to do with my time. Not that people tell me these things often, but the sheer impossibility of anyone saying anything, of anything holding me back, and of anyone even knowing where I am … well, that’s a taste of the independence I so cherish. And I cherish that I note its company as I sit there alone in that coffee shop, because it makes my hour all the richer.

We may not have whole days or summers to ourselves as we grow up anymore, and we may not “own our time,” as my friend Art likes to tell me. In fact, we may not have control over most of the things that happen in our lives. But we own the breath in our lungs, the ability to look up and acknowledge the sky in silence, the infinite space to think infinite thoughts … and well, at least an hour of our day is ours.

It’s just like love: I believe that there’s no such thing as it arriving too late, because when it happens, it won’t matter whether you waited for it two years or 20. And that applies to not just love, but independence too, a passion, a hobby, some peaceful thoughts, anything you value, no matter how small. Because time ceases to exist when you notice the good in your life, when you acknowledge those moments, when you make the rest of your life worth it because you know those moments have come and will come again soon.

And that’s the power of the human mind: It can break time when it wills it. It can make one moment an infinity. It can spin days out of memories and anticipate more. In the company of these comforts and these consolations, it can quiet the soul and use it as a compass to plot its own course and find its destination.


About tali2

I am a recent grad of the wonderful English major. Though I don't regret studying English one bit, I realize why my teachers, parents, friends, and imaginary mentors warned me against it: Because it leads you nowhere. But it did give me great writing skills which I hope to continue honing in this blog as I chronicle the tribulations of the terrible job hunt in the terrible job market of NYC. And I hope that my blog reminds fellow unemployed recent grads that you are not alone, inspires some hope within us, while presenting a snapshot of our lives to others who do not share the same self-imposed troubles.
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