i’ve had some ideas floating around in the brain space for a few weeks. haven’t had a chance to write any out yet. i’m okay with that. it’s a welcome change to think anything at all, to feel opinionated about the events of my life, like there’s still something contributing to it. without pain or happiness, i almost feel too light to be alive, like my existence can only be proven if i feel it happening.
the conversation was sparked a few weeks ago, walking down the same stretch of sidewalk i always do. i’m lucky to live in a relatively busy neighbourhood; a few blocks down from a huge park by the river, another few blocks down from the university. in between, there’s a convenience store, student pub, shawarma place, and a spooky bookstore that always seems to be closed, but isn’t. there’s an elementary school as well, which is interesting to think about. families occupy this neighbourhood too, in houses lining streets overrun with empty cans.
i noticed, walking home, that a rubber ball had been accidentally flung over the playground fence. it rolled to a convenient stop right in the path of an oncoming grey caravan. i don’t know why i was so surprised to see the driver step out immediately and chuck the ball back without hesitation. it missed, hitting the top of the fence and bouncing right back. a man stepped off his bike to do the same.
it’s weird to cross that line into adulthood, to walk down the street one day and realize these kids are in your hands now. in our hands. i am no longer the clay they shape me into. i am the shaper, i am the teacher. everything these kids will learn will come from people like me, who still barely have a clue about how to exist in this world. we throw the balls back, we shield them from grief. or we give it to them. god. i sound like holden caulfield.
i don’t like to reflect on my youth because i don’t like to remember that i’m past it. i took a visit back to my old high school last weekend. one of the most influential women i’ve ever known—who happened to be my high school dance teacher—recently passed away from a cancer she’d hidden for several years. we held a celebration of life for her, in the form of several small performances. i think she would’ve enjoyed it. i took as many pictures as i could for the event. i thought about how nice it would’ve been to have the chance to take pictures of her while she was still here, to have at least one i could print and put on my wall, so i’d be able to see her exactly the way i always have. i’ll never get to do that. it’s a scary thing. i can’t tape real memories to the walls in my room. i can’t keep her alive the way i do with everyone else.
anyways, life’s happening, and i’m watching again. i can feel my gaze refocusing on the path ahead, my eyes shifting up from my feet to the horizon. it’s scary, but it’s real. nothing ever stops moving.