RIGHT THIS MOMENT, MOMENTS

i've been worrying about how many moments i am actually living in. totally, mentally, immersed in the present. i'm anxious it's not enough moments in a given day, year. i'm determining in which moments i do feel completely there.

during conversation. conversation is so pure. perhaps the details of the conversation itself aren't about the present but the action and voice and the ears listening, are. to share like that is something special. maybe that's why i often get anxious during conversation. it's so inthissecondrightnow and i could fuck it up with one word. that's the kind of in the moment i want. listening to a song for the first time. before it becomes background noise, really listening. i've got so many songs where i am actually several times removed from reality. if it's the xx i'm in stockholm huddled on my bed with two others, it's late, it's cold, it's smoky. if it's any song aaron and i danced to in his apartment, i'm immediately back there, getting crumbs everywhere, spilling wine, dancing with closed eyes. if it's manchester orchestra, i'm in high school again, in the car with my best friend. with degausser, i'm on a school bus going to a basketball game, sitting alone, mouthing every word. with a song i can easily be three times removed from reality. being in transit. whether it be by airplane, car, subway, bicycle, foot. i feel very rightthissecond in those moments. during showers. while reading a good book. not the kind where your mind drifts, but an honest to god good book. while doing yoga. kissing. as long as i'm not thinking i shouldn't be, or wondering what's next. being in a new city and seeing everything.

i'm trying to make every moment a right this moment moment. it's not as easy as it should be.

IT'S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN THROUGH OSMOSIS

I've been writing about soulmates. I think about that a lot. I have met nine so far. The other morning, I spent another morning thinking about them. And in those moments, I wonder, are we contemplating the same subject matter over all different morning coffees on this very morning?

(those I have, and have not, met thus far in my experience. those who have been involved in my experience for moments, months, or words. those who have entered into my experience and never left, and those who have come and have since gone. a burning connection. energy, not words. blatant. stimulate great personal growth in most desperate times.)

At what part of our experiences will we intersect?

I've been writing down the things I'd want to, but never will, say to you, and I think it's good for me to keep them. One day I won't feel them anymore and I won't have any idea what I'd been thinking about. I wonder what I was thinking about three years ago, six years ago, ten years ago, at this very date and time. I think about that a lot.

I wonder about the places each person has fallen in love before, where they were in the moment they first digested the thought of it. I wonder about the places where each person has felt the most broken and in what moment they thought 'this is it, this is the end, i can't wake up tomorrow.' when did they stop feeling broken and how? and do they feel much of anything now? not loved, not broken, not dead, but neither much alive?

I've been thinking about how comfortable drives home feel, so usual. but no one's drive home is the same as mine or anyone else's. windows down through the stoplights, up on the highway, loud music, loud singing, occasional crying on Highway 50. it's not usually sad tears, but tears of clarity. i do my best thinking in the car and in the shower. and i've been thinking about that a lot lately. turning left next to the brick building, slowing down over the railroad tracks, where there are beautiful christmas lights in the winter, fields, sky, grass, knowing the man in the house on the right is dying of cancer, the end of FF, never stopping at that stop sign, impulsively checking my phone on that corner, the skinny horses, knowing the man down that gravel road killed himself, the sharp corner at the top, if i want to go through the woods i take gravel, if i want to listen to music a little longer, i take highway, and i'm almost home. around the last corner i wish the drive could last a bit longer. and god, no one else has that.

I've had some of the best weeks yet. last week, in one day, i talked to almost everyone i love. i went for a swim, watched a physics class boat race, ran two miles, studied, ate healthy, drank lots of tea, was inspired, met with a friend just for good conversation, hit every green light, told my mom i loved her, did yoga, read the stranger, and slept early. if that's all it takes to feel so good, i can't believe it's taken me this long. I am so happy. 

I gave a presentation in class this week. i just want to make others think, think for themselves, question their actions, question their future, and learn something they hadn't known. i'm so passionate about learning and spreading knowledge and opening minds and opening hearts and opening eyes and sharing and love.

Yesterday and today, i've been running, eating well, and i started doing yoga again, i feel so magical. i feel so good about my body for the first time since i've started thinking about having to feel good about it. i just dont want to wake up one day and not be able to run or stretch or swim anymore because i've gotten too old and broken. if i run and stretch and swim every day im going to outsmart basic human biology.

WHERE BEAUTY ISN'T

There is nothing beautiful or delightful about waking up wondering how to make it through another day. There is no entitlement or enlightenment that comes from bleeding into a bathroom sink, relying on pills to sleep, daydreaming of crashing the car. Walking, terrified of seeing a familiar face and the hello or conversation that follows. Purposely diverting eyes into the ground or up into the clouds.  Then, replaying that unsettling interaction for months. There is no beauty in collapsing into bed after the day is over of pure emotional and mental exhaustion. There is no beauty in feeling incapable. We have to stop romanticizing anxiety and depression. Sadness should never be encouraged or idolized. 

THE ROOM WAS FILLED WITH CONVERSATIONS WE WEREN'T HAVING

to my favorite
your mother is writing in the Nothing guest room
you can't love anything more than something you miss.
your mother's charcoal-stained metamorphosis
is the silence of my life.

"i'm pregnant"
"overjoyed"
everyone went to the shelters, but no one hurried
in its eyes i was sure i saw some form of understanding.

into the black water reflection: "as long as i am thinking, i am alive"
it was her touch that saved my life, all of the searching was in vain.
and thinking is killing me. red flares, black water, i had everything.

one hundred years of joy.
"you love an idea"
"life is scarier than death"
the last time i ever saw her.

for reasons that need not be explained, you made a strong impression on me.
and here i am, instead of there.