I arrive in a strange city. Every inch of me pleads for this time to be different, to leave behind the selfdestructive patterns guilty of spoiling everything that has ever been good. I have a terribly unattractive habit of running out on places with a “get me the hell out of here, else I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind” sentiment, and lately I’ve been feeling it all catch up to me. These poor ol’ towns don’t deserve the blame… Besides, has it really been all that bad?
Growing up, I never struggled with things like eating dinner or getting out of bed. I just never really felt like I existed when waking up in the morning. Or when going to bed at night. Or when brushing my teeth, or combing my hair, for that matter. Or when walking to my car before driving to school, or while waiting in line at a pharmacy, or walking the neighbor’s dog. Or when running around barefoot in the street, or when arriving to work at the same time every day, when dancing around the living room, playing kickball on the field, picking blackberries behind the fence, fairyhouses, in the trees of three, hiding, bushes, foggy— sweet.
Looking back on all that, it somehow no longer feels tangible; I can recall it all but it doesn’t feel like mine. Honestly, I would believe it if you told me that I was born two days ago and fed all the memories I have through a USB port.
College was different. I can grasp more of myself from that time, though shrouded in a vignette of discontent. There, the world seemed to move so fast that sometimes it forgot to include me in it. Still, it’s not like I hated the bustle. I just wish I had lived in it a bit more.
I arrive in this new city. While strange, it carries promise: in the girl I met last Tuesday during happy hour at Taco Joe’s; in the kitten wandering around my front lawn this morning. I find comfort in the smoothies I make myself every day before work, routine in the Friday yoga class I finally convinced myself to join, excitement towards the drinks tomorrow with “Jeff-from-Bumble.” I’ve even planned a trip to Boston in the spring—here doesn’t mean stuck.
It’s hard to forget where I went wrong before, places I have broken and left pieces of myself. This new town, will be different, this time. Instead of whispering it to myself, in a deep desire for things to finally change, longing for things to get better, they simply shall. ▲
