you reach a point in your life where things are either too important or too uncertain to write about. instead, you take each day as it comes and wait for the kaboom to happen. the kaboom is either a big something that makes you do a little jig around the room, or something insignificant that just makes you suddenly glad you’re alive.
in my case, it was insignificant. but it cured me of the restlessness, the uncertainty, and the burden that waiting brings. i sat in the passenger seat of the S.O’s car at 2-something am. as we drove from one city to another, we sang along to travis, and i watched the twinkly lights connecting his city to mine. cheap thrills, but it felt like the best thing ive had in a long time. better than countless ciders and tossing peanut shells to the floor. better than swaying tipsily to jazz on a wooden bench. better than winter spice lattes on windy days.
im continuing this path of feeling alive by swimming again. a weakness i havent indulged in for years. the first day i dove in, it felt like home. and i swam and swam for hours, never tiring, because the exhaustion never sets in when im in the water – only when im out of it. hours later, every muscle in my body screeched in agony and all i could think of was diving in again. a few days ago, the pool attendant told me that thanks to an overnight sandstorm, the pool was a mess. i shrugged and dove again, and it felt like my own personal ocean. cool blue waters, sand at my feet and the sun glimmering down my back.
while im not writing much, im reading. all the time. when my books arrived from london, i sat for hours smelling them. they smelt like every good memory i have of england. scouring london’s charity shops with the s.o, wandering the streets of bath with b.d, tea sipping with Ms. R in bristol. within the pages of my books, i found ticket stubs to liverpool, apology notes in birmingham, leaves from illkley. convoluted messages in the s.o’s scrawl on first pages, and day-pass bookmarks. my lives are in those book leaves. my london selves on my abu dhabi shelves. its two homes in one, and its hard not to be immersed in pages of prose and poetry.
till the next kaboom. i hope its just as unexpected.