I was informed yesterday that summer is over. In truth, I have worn a sweater three times in the last two days. I appear to be on the cusp of yet another season change. I hope fall likes me.
Age challenges me outside of my Crescent City. I was a champion of intergenerational bonding. Most times now I feel I am less a unique snowflake and more a late twenties loser. I am baffled by the ease of slightly older folks to know when and how to accept fate, and in awe of the open minds of those born in the last 20 years. I am struggling with the theory of success, or lack of, with my peers. I feel I am always a count behind in this societal dance. I’m usually too busy watching the person next to me for their interpretation.
Last night a friend of mine and I hung out, watching the always worthy Lego Movie. I was preparing one of my standard advisory stickers for the situation, and was shut down. “Are you going to do anything in the next two hours that will change anything outside of this room?” All I needed was Stephie to help me properly label a world revolution.
I live predominantly in the past, secondly in the future, and least of all in the moment. But when I can find the moment…it is a beautiful view. I let the challenges in life trip me up, and it takes wound-licking and dimes to repair broken shoelaces.
One perk, I find, in offices today is the lack of tongue paper cuts. Stamps and envelopes all come as stickers now. It’s good here in the future.
The late summer clouds in Colorado are stunning. I think of Shawna as a 15 or 16 year old, smelling like childhood and ever seeking freedom for her fins. I’ve been gifted with amazing people along my path. When the room goes dark and I get dizzy, hands reach out to support me. Only after the fact can I tell who held me close and whose tone most comforted my fears. It’s not always who I assume, and many allies scatter to the wind in a strong breeze. I believe people sometimes just want to share themselves for an instant, and then reabsorb into the current of serendipity. I know I do, sometimes.
I volunteered to work on Labor Day, as it will be my first day as a full-time paralegal. My second act as a full-time paralegal will be to regret my first act. Hopefully my third act will be to learn. The third act is always a good place for a turn around.
I’m still hunting the creative at an office. Penta Barbie would abandon this joint, needing her wild ways to be nurtured. Funny how wildness requires tender care.
I am nurtured by music lately. A recent friend of mine sang to me, and made me think of Josh. I felt held close by my aftercare provider and by a trusted ally at once. This morning Louis led me to my bus stop, holding images in my mind of the Mississippi mud churning its good mornings to the local joggers. I could almost smell fried dough off the Square, soft sugar clouds descending on over-eager tourists. I hope they like to linger over coffee, most shop owners and tour guides are still sleeping off the hurricanes from last night. Tis the season, after all.
The seasons must have always changed like this. Odd, I missed it for as long as I did.