when things are either very good or not so hot, I find myself playing this remembering game that's long been a habit of mine. where I try to think back to five or ten or fifteen years ago and think, is this how I imagined it would be? is this how I imagined I would be?
I generally have no idea what I thought then, but I think regardless, it's a not unhealthy exercise in memory and imagination. sometimes it gives me comfort in what my life consists of now. but today, walking down the slow sloping hill again, with coffee in my hands that's not for me, past the same homeless men I see daily, whose aging seems too quick and too palpable, along the same three block route I've walked for three years, whose turns I stagger and lengthen constantly to make the path seem new, heading back to the same desk where I have sat and daydreamed for what seems like far too long, I could not stop the thought, this is not what I'd have imagined.
five years ago I'd have figured nomad life: an airstream, a mission, a wayward attack; formless art and grueling discussions and lots of dinners based around beans. ten years I'd have figured art school, a bigger city than this, maybe some glamorous torment and a whole lot more smoking. fifteen, who even knows.
I suppose that vision changes and things turn from grand to minute when you live them. happinesses alter and what you think you need slowly shifts. being happy feels more important than being iconoclastic. feeling loved seems better than feeling challenged. progress is a slower process than you imagine in those quick flashes long ago. I remind myself to think: no. stop. this is fine. no, no, in fact: this is good.