Thursday, September 5, 2013

It’s going to be spotty these next few days. Tradition dictates I neglect you for a post in any given month, two at most, but we are headed for even higher rates of abandonment. Someone once told me the amount of blogging time is inversely related to doing big, important adult things, and there’s certainly some truth to this. Even the free moments I used to lavish on frivolities like television and video games have been redirected to my move to Dallas, so you know it’s serious. The difference with this site, though, is it doesn’t exist as a vanity piece or a vehicle to deliver some poignant message. It exists because I get noticeably dumber if I don’t write regularly. And me don’t want that, you could say.

Moves like these, well, they suck as much as they excite. Nothing really prepares you sufficiently for them–not friendly advice, not your liberal arts education, not even your past experiences. There is a strange sinking-slash-thrilling feeling that strikes occasionally, like you’re peering into a cliff. No single task on your list is necessarily rocket science. But the sheer volume overwhelms, and the only approach you can take is to tackle one thing at a time. It’s like you’re laboring over your own pointillist painting, committing to one dot after the other, and then stepping back to reveal something spectacular.

I’ve got a few of these dots on canvas, but there is more blank than color right now. But that’s fine! That’s fine. All I can do is look to the next dot, which is Chicago. Sunday. Both feet off the edge. A return to a city steeped in memories, paved with the promise of new ones, and wrapped in a cold that will not compromise.