I woke up with laughter today. It was a ridiculous dream about the old school campus from all those years ago. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in my apartment, much older and far away from those classrooms. I laughed at the insignificance of all that used to worry me at the time. Then, I got out of bed and made myself some coffee; I turned some music on, and the little time I did have, I used to dance and look at the sky outside. The weather was fantastic, and I did not have much time to write in the morning. Between promising to help out and sleeping in longer than I intended, I had missed out on the fresh hours of dawn. I wrote a little and left for the day.
Life always gets in the way, eventually. It was the only truth. Anyone who discounted the importance of these external events—other people’s desires, unexpected failures, inclement weather—had not lived a single day in honest existence. In the war of the external and internal, the external always carried more pull. To be human was to be around other human beings. We were not creatures of the hunt; we were a species of community.
Having woken up with a disposition that had unevenly bolstered me for the day ahead, I braved the general frustration of the daily creeping into me. The wind was blowing. I found myself between the skirmishes of dust and leaves amidst the traffic. There is an unmatched urgency on stormy days, with everyone trying to get to safety before it begins pouring. How could one lose their grip on a day like this? It was all so destructively beautiful.
Someone asked me if I loved this town a while back. I told them it was a relationship of love and hate; it depended on the day. It was love today. With all its frustrations, all I had for this place was love. I felt like an integral part, not just a person walking on the street. I was a part of the unique orchestra that was this gloriously inconsequential town, with its trivial history and unimportant urban monuments. In this regularity, we were alike: both run of the mill, with a few redeeming qualities. For me, it was my patience. For the town, it was the rain.
Come evening, both of us had poured what we could, in perfect balance.