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I think there’s a point where everything started making sense. There was just a certain comfort in knowing I would never predict the future. Things stopped looking so enormous in the way that your childhood home looks so much smaller when you visit it again after some years have passed over it. There’s this huge part missing from the concept of going full circle. It’s too often assumed that you stop after going full circle.
Only you don’t. You just go full circle again.
I am never quite sure what my spiritual beliefs are, but I can tell you that the single greatest argument I’ve ever heard for the existence of an afterlife is that almost nothing in life just starts and then stops. You are never really out of the woods. You are never really behind the eight ball. Really, you are just in between forests and waiting for something else to knock the eight ball out of the way.
You get to a point where you realize you are barely waiting for seasons anymore. By the time you have gotten used to your scarf and pea coat, your legs are longing for summer air and sea breeze. You are drunk from the rapid passage of time. There is less dread. There is less time to worry. Each year becomes a small and more manageable increment of your lifetime. The concept of the “rest of your life” stops seeming so dire. The “rest of your life” is not such a long time.
It’s the cyclical nature of things that has me alternating my preferences for my car ride home. Some times I want to spend my nightly drive into the city on the phone trying to plug in to the world. Others, I just need some airy music so I can attempt to plug into myself. I get a conversation going with myself.
I think “we” should do this more often.