I’ve been strangely nostalgic today. It’s been exactly a year since I donned a cap and gown and took unsteady steps across a stage to the shouts of my family. A year, but it feels like no more than a few months at most. Time has passed so quickly, and perhaps that is why I am so elated by today’s tiny details. The almost too-painful burn of the sun in South Park. The comfort of hugs from an old friend. Chalk dust motes in my climbing gym and the tough callus mountain ranges across my fingers. The crisp air that disappeared as I climbed to a top floor studio and became filled with dreams of a future with friends and a loft with warm wooden floors and limitless sunshine. The smell of crisp apples in the nighttime. The sharp crescent of the moon against a cerulean sky. The simple pleasure of temporarily befriending a stranger. The joy in knowing you can turn a corner and meet a French, rock climbing, basketball playing, noodle loving boy who will share his appetizer with you and your friends. The way the sidewalk sparkled as I walked home with a new friend turned neighbor. I can’t let life pass me by so quickly that I forget to treasure the little details.
This weekend—these past few weeks, really—have been such a delicious reminder of how fantastic my life truly is. I’ve been incredibly busy rushing from work to dinners, lunches, brunches, parties, workouts, and vacations with friends. I’m feeling so grateful for my life here, and for my overworked, under-rested body. These wild, sleepless nights can’t last forever, but I’ll cherish every one I have.
AND GATZ THE END OF GATZ
look dude, i don’t even know. i’m just trying to figure my life out, okay?
TELL ME OF VEGAS
TELL ME OF LIFE
TELL ME OF THE HAUNTINGS OF THE NIGHT — Calvin, and his remarkably accurate summary of my life
That afternoon, I learned two new words. “Inscrutable.” And “friend.”
Words were different when they lived inside of you. — Benjamin Alire Sáenz,Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe
it was a great day
how odd i can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words. — David Foster Wallace, The Pale King (via vanstanley)
(Source: nequiquam, via thepatformist)