Return from the North
I haven’t said anything yet about my brief but great couple of weeks in Canada.
Returning home is always full of passively triggered memories.
Memory is a funny thing like that– it’s all about awareness of change, and that ties in with expectations and hope. When I was a kid in college in my early twenties, I’m not sure if I really expected myself to live beyond my late twenties. It wasn’t that I expected to die young (life wasn’t actually that rough), it’s just that I had no sense of expectation back then for what I would do next. I lived in the moment– not necessarily in a carpe-diem self-help sort of way, but rather, with no sense of consequence for what would happen the next day or week.
Evidence: how long did it take me to finish my college and undergrad degree? About twice as long as I should have. Just didn’t give a shit at the time.
But when I was in those days, those days were my whole world– there was ltitle difference between a day or a month, I was in the same town, surrounded by the same people, with the same perceptions of the world around me and my place in that world.