My feet shoved in shoes, moving too quickly I’m stumbling over myself. A jacket and a vest thrown over the clothes I was already wearing. The pocket in my stomach, filled with writer's block, or maybe imposter syndrome. Waiting for inspiration that wouldn’t come. Cracking so far into my psyche, if I stared at a blank page for a second longer, I fear I would scrape my knees against the rough ridges trying to crawl out of my own mind. As I was still, it grew angry. So with my shoes laced too tight and music too loud in my ears, I left my house seeking myself.
The frustration hot on my face, racing down my street, I stopped in my tracks to take a deep breath. “Youth” by Glass Animals was playing. I missed the first half, too distracted by my internal dilemma, weaving dialogue through my thoughts uninvited. I restarted it. Eyes glued to the ground, the sunset hovering above me. Still moving with the apprehension I couldn’t quite name. I worried we’d become friends and then it would be too late. Concerned it had already made a home in the pit of my stomach, an infestation I had no cure for. I turned left, walking against traffic. Right, left, right, left, right, left. My feet blurring into the concrete as I drowned in my own vision. Sinking far from my thoughts, searching for an escape of a crowded mind. Shuffling my bones down every street until they could stand on their own again.
A boy in a truck was catching up to me, windows down. I looked back the moment he passed, elbow hanging in the breeze. My palm smacked against my face after our brief moment of eye contact. One second of embarrassment. Then I thought, “this is it!”. He doesn’t even know who I am. He doesn't know how many thoughts are circling the drain of my consciousness. He has never seen me before, so why am I ashamed of my own presence? The gravel is crunching under my feet and my lungs are swarmed with cool, fresh air. I’m passing other people on the road with their own collections of outlooks swarming in their minds. But everyone is out because the wind on your face this evening is just too sweet.
“Bitter Sweet Symphony” echoes through my head and I take a turn I normally don’t. Another left turn instead of a right. I’m stopping every fifteen steps, taking pictures of the sky because I don’t want to forget that very moment. Seeing something that moves you, seeing something with inspiration, something you want to have and remember and recall. They’ll sit in my camera roll forever, capturing my aimless wander, trying to find sense.
“Nothing Compares 2 U”, I turn it up two clicks. And what is the point of making sense? What is the point of finding sense? We’ll sign up for an endless journey and die trying. A dumpster full of furniture I pass and a dumpster full of our past selves we collect. I am already different from who I was two songs ago. Fact. But is there a point in knowing exactly how and in what way? Or is that for us to uncover later, when we’re an inch away from sleep and our minds cry out with thoughts. But maybe sense will find us, when we least expect it, when we are unprepared. And we shall laugh and giggle and think how silly it was to be worried.
“I Only Have Eyes For You” Everyone I’m passing has a smile on their face. That’s what a brisk evening can do for a person. A woman walks towards me, her wiry gray hair tied back in a long ponytail, her baby hairs whisked away by the breeze. A bottle of water in her hand, but she’s smiling so hard there’s no time for her to take a sip. She looks at me and without thinking, I tear The Flamingos out of my ear and I shout, “How are you?” and she's good, she's more than good because it is a beautiful night and we're sharing a walk and by this point I don’t even know what was causing me troubles. We cross paths and she turns down one street while I continue straight, never to see each other again, but her small spirit, her bright eyes, her teeth cold from her mouth hanging open, she walks the rest of the way with me.
“What’s It All For?” by Yellow Days, a song on heavy rotation when I was in high school. It’s me and the mountains right now. And I think of how much I'd like to dance again. My bones hungry for movement, to search for meaning in a state more familiar to me than stillness. Collecting my impulses, knowing myself, inspiration laid bare. We will find each other again, like a lost lover, returned to be loved once more.
“If You Went Away” as I came upon a stretch of desert, another path I usually don’t take. Passing homes and others’ tiny worlds. Clean cut grass, sprinklers on at night, a playhouse, a gated pool. Ranches filled with horses, trampling the dirt below with the barn dog that chases them with love. I stand here to take a breath. But what if someone sees us standing still? My mind echoed back, who cares? I’m here and my mind has finally reconnected to my own two feet. My back turned to the other side of the road. The sun swallowed whole behind the mountains as I began to be swallowed up by dusk. A car slowed down to let me pass, but I waved him along and there was a moment that he and I both admired the picture. Sharing with strangers, seeing what others can see. He walked the rest of the way with me too, his kindness, his starstruck eyes. Imagine seeing anything again for the first time.
I pulled out my phone and saw something I didn’t want to see. Chewing on my jacket collar, the hole in my stomach gnawing at me again, my feet slipping from steady ground. But no, I thought, we do not need to rummage in the garbage of old feelings. The dumpster of makeshift realities I thought would come true. Cheeks flushed and my pace picked up. “Bitter Sweet Symphony” came on again. Then I played it again. And then one more time. Submerging the self pity, no room next to me with my newfound patience and bright eyes. The dark blanketed upon me, it was night now. Swinging my flashlight back and forth, a whole hour has passed, three miles, but I felt as if I could walk until the sun appeared again. But I wanted to race home. And collect these moments, so they could live on forever. Whispering thank you to all that could hear me, the rocks, the rabbits that darted across the street, the sleeping sun, the bright moon, the sprinkled stars, the kind smiles and soft eyes that passed me by, the wind that kept me awake, the songs that framed my disposition. A walk with all that consumed me, held me up long enough to process and ponder.
For this post, I had a draft of a completely different idea. I didn’t like it all, sounding sour. But these conjoined moments, the happenstance instances on my walk, was more inspiration than I could have ever sought out. The stream of consciousness was more than enough to make me feel like me again. Fed until I was full, the fixings of simplicity. So when you too, feel the pit of your stomach begin to corrode your insides, remove yourself, displace yourself. When inspiration strikes you’ll feel it. And it’ll become you. And you will become it.
until we move our bones again
natalie <3
