Here we are.
It has been a hefty chunk of time since my last post, and upon reflection it has felt much longer. Time is funny like that, or at least the experience of time; when mere moments stretch on for hours, or conversely years somehow become magically collapsed into inappropriately small pieces of information, so curt and dismissive and void of detail. Lately I hear myself saying “I went to college at SPU,” which I suppose effectively communicates education level and geographic location and my ability to speak English, but wholly neglects so many other things, like meals in Gwinn or that one time Marshall and I drove to San Francisco in a weekend or what it felt like to graduate.
I kind of hate that about time, about memories. I hate that profoundly significant past experiences, like pain or joy, are reduced to a mere summing up. And actually, hate is too strong a word. It just bothers me, that’s all. Because I understand that it would be far too much to handle, always holding memories at the front of our minds. Things have to be put on the back burner to allow us to encounter and cope with the present, to not constantly be laughing and crying with massive headaches while our brains try to sort out all emotions and colors and scents and feelings that we’ve ever experienced or will possibly experience.
But all the same, it has been 3.5 months since my return from France, and all of the life that has occurred in that space–moving home, jobs, friends, family–has meant that my memories from that time are becoming a bit more blurred. It’s harder to taste the coulommiers cheese, or hear the strained voices of French children trying to speak English, or remember the feeling of sitting on a high-speed train zooming to somewhere new and unexplored.
I guess that’s okay, because Seattle is a good place, with good people. It’s good to move forward, to embrace change, or at least take it in stride.
And I’ve found that even when the present is so so different from the past, there are still brief instances, little reminders that yank us back in time. Take the other day, for example. In the middle of my shift at Diva Espresso, a French woman came in to meet another customer for some private tutoring. As she ordered a drink in English, I mentioned that I had lived in Lyon for 5 months, and without hesitation she began speaking in French, asking me about my experiences in Europe.
Just like that, I was transported across the world, enjoying a small moment à la française.
you’re back, and i’m glad.
hope you’re well, brother.