Toes Tapping, Fingers Clacking: Time to Write

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It’s been six months since I moved to Boston and for the first time since relocating to the states I am finally sitting down to write. Could it be the inspirational push of New Year’s and fresh starts? Could it be the arrival of brisk dark days drawing me towards warm coffee shops and quiet afternoons? Or perhaps simply the fact that I have the day off and time to sit and contemplate things?

All feasible reasons, but I think it has been in fact the sheer magnitude of this transition that has stopped me from turning experience into prose. One would think that relocating to Thailand would have packed more of a punch but it is the move to a place so seemingly familiar that has in fact taken longer to sink into.

I have written of course, journals and lists and poems, but I have not stopped to process with the intent of making anything public. To be honest the thought has made me feel more vulnerable than it ever has in the past. Loneliness was easier to express when I had language barriers to calculate into the equation. Excitement seemed to carry more weight when it was tied to temple traipsing and Caribbean bike rides. Relationship whoahs didn’t seem as trivial when cultural differences wove their way through the center of communication. And yet these are still the emotions of life that compel me to start typing.

New coffee shop. Same story.

I could write about how small adventures and long bus rides still fuel my creativity. I could write about how finding ways to balance and ground myself is still an area of life that requires both analysis and constant patience. I could write about how dating still has moments where it is both exhilarating and draining all within the time span of a single breath. I could write about how connection still remains the one word that guides my daily decision making.

Same story. Different interpretations.

I could write about the new ways in which physical space intrigues me, my new found desire to inhabit places with intention. I could write about how different it feels to be alone, how much I simultaneously love my new found autonomy and miss the families that are no longer around the corner. I could write about what it means to be able to realize dreams that I have not had the resources to previously pursue. I could write about how different it feels to move into a mental state in which emotion is not as strong of a determinant in outcome.

Different interpretations. Same desires.

I could write about how I seek out the same elements of community no matter where I am in the world. I could write about how I crave moments that are grounding because I am incapable of love when I am not present within myself. I could write about how I crave emotional intimacy more than companionship. I could write about how I will always believe in you no matter how much you tell me not to.

New chapter. Same conclusion.

I will write.

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