On a scale of many-ness over the past week and change, there’s been a lot.
And you know, as much as it makes me feel slightly too grown up to actually say out loud… I might even be here more than a year.
A companion of mine and I have been having the most wonderful discussions about the absence of time and merit of space. I’ve been thinking a lot about my Writing, all of the words I keep floating about.
I’ve also been thinking of businesses and traveling and purpose and, occasionally, opera.
When I think back to beginning this blah-g journey as a broken-hearted Australian housewife, I feel somewhat melancholy. I was super angry for a few minutes, then I lost my mind (again), now I feel like myself.
My lack of attachment to physical illusions is something I take pride in. That said, had someone tried to let me know back in 2009 that not only would I get to New York City – I would plant myself in a one-bedroom, Upper West Side, brownstone – half a block from Central Park, with a private deck the size of my last apartment; I don’t reckon I’d quite get the joke.
My walk to work has shifted from a Times Square shoulder check fest to a leisurely stroll through the southern tip of the park.
Some phases seem to earn their own silent serenity. I’ve certainly never experienced one quite like the period I’m in.
I’ll probably write some poetry soon.