Where I run

Here I sit in Marc's apartment with nothing but my stories prompting me to make another keystroke.
I don't have a 5 year plan, I don't have a 401k, and I don't have my dreamjob.

But the long and the short of it sounds something like this: I don't need them.

What I do have is far more valuable to me than any of those would-be essentials: I have a belief in the potential for anything.
Sure, I now live in the city known for housing some of the most unhappy, unfulfilled, and never-quite-good-enough people in the world and yet I can't help but chuckle to myself as I realize that I have it within me to decide all on my own never to be one of them.

And I have decided, flat out, that I will not only shy away from those lacklove outlooks, but I will break into a dead run in the opposite direction.

Wherever I end up, out of breath, covered in perspiration, at least I know I'll be all the further from gray malaise that is an unhopeful life.

Mountain to mountain

Rain kills my drive.
It's as if my whipped topping has been pelted by so much pea-gravel.
And it's not pretty.

Not to say that I'm in any way less determined, it's more that I feel like every step takes three times as much energy, focus, and strength as it might if there were blue skies and yellow rays instead of this gritty drip drop.

The dry skin around my fingernails reminds me that the precipitation is only temporary.
Brighter days really are just around the corner.
And what's more I'm not completely without light, happiness, joy.
There are so many, many things for which I am undyingly grateful:

-I'm working
-I'm writing
-I'm seeing & hearing
-I'm peaceful
-I'm not lonely

Whenever the clouds roll in and the city goes back to being an ashy cave I want to roll over in bed and go back to being asleep and inert.
But this cannot (and will not) be.
There is too much I am finally understanding, finally accepting to run from it in light of the weather.
No more shall Phaeton's presence (or absence) dictate my actions.
I've gone too many days, weeks, years living on a leash fastened to that golden chariot.
It's high time that I cut myself free and run amongst the horizons choosing my own.

The plan that is no plan

Today I realized the beauty of being a willing wanderer.

There are far too many beautiful places I've come across in life as a result of simply meandering through various streets and byways to allow for any dissuasion from the value of such aimlessness.

On foot for the better part of the day, I walked through Brooklyn with no agenda and finished the day with a full list of experiences.
I found a typewriter in the annals of a densely packed antiques shoppe. I met a nanny and her two talkative trusts in a miniature organic frozen yogurt parlor. I saw a movie about which I knew next to nothing...and ended up loving it. And finally, I was introduced to a new route home filled to the brim with block after block of ornate and signature brownstones.
I couldn't have been happier with the day.

And now I'm permitted to relax in the comfort of a safe space.
I'm preparing to whip up a batch of my world-renowned scones.
And the night sky beckons me to the bed where a set of long arms will wrap around me and press my warm skin into my slender bones.

I love the plan that is no plan.

On Mornings

If the the clatter and smash of kitchen sundries falling from a fourth floor window are my wake up call
I know I'm in the city.

If I can tell exactly who is filling their coffee pot by the variation in temperature of my shower
I know I'm in the city.

If walking the dog means dodging buses
I know I'm in the city.

If I wake up happy and stay that way
I know I'm in the city.