Wandering to Williamsburg

After the most wonderful weekend its time to find my way back home and into the search for a way out I’m forced to acknowledge is my life at this stage. My usual method of managing this slow and dull crisis (to hike to somewhere or run so as to find an acceptably constructive way to tire myself without having to muster too much emotional courage) is out of reach for the moment. I am currently suffering from the slow burn and minimal swelling of bursitis. It is having an effect like the stipulations of a good acting exercise (but less therapeutic). I am forced to accept my circumstances but I cannot give my partner what he wants. I cannot run from my issues and into better headspace through athletic brain chemistry, I am now forced to deal. In this, like any good despair, there is great, elusive potential for benefit. 

I spent the weekend with a group of old friends, people from my college days. In many ways the people among whom I became a person. While living on a college campus and spending our days pushing each other aggressively into great feats of sensitivity and peeling the lining of our humanity, I learned with these people what it is to care. So spending a couple of days laughing and joking at ourselves and our mutual frustrations, talking about what they’re all up to and what their lives are like was beautiful. It was just what the doctor ordered, even if it wasn’t ice and rest. 

Every fall I get a pretty powerful attack of wanderlust, and perhaps that was the most important part of my experience. A solo drive with the weather starting to turn and the trees bowing in their newfound water weight to the road reminds me who I am. I suppose it is the impending here and now of the nowhere between destinations. No place I’ve been has ever held a lasting sense of home, so a weekend jaunt is often perfect to take the edge off my discomfort. But then I arrived and strolled around Williamsburg Virginia in the rain, its a very pretty little burg even in the haze of an October mist. It is in that melancholy moment when I begin to remember myself and build a new idea. Maybe it is not the feeling of gypsy-like creation that matters but the gypsies themselves, the spirit of long and wandering trips to places I do not know to make something I’ve yet to define. The possibility is intoxicating. 

Finally my friends arrive, I introduce myself to those I do not know, and it is not quite my usual case of evasive conversation. Somehow the rain opened me up, but they’re late so we hurry into the theatre to supportively endure a musical for former classmate and current mutual sufferer of our twenties. The show was awful, our friend did some admirable work, considering the situation. But this is how it goes when you’re young and unestablished and you must follow your work, living on a shoestring and a bit like a monk. In the spirit of this ethos, we spent the evening and late into the night sharing some drinks and stories and hopeful fears for the future. 

The next morning we all, (my two friends from college and two new friends I’d only met the night before) met for breakfast and a stroll around colonial Williamsburg. I took a few pictures, we talked about our lives a bit more. I spent that next evening and morning in much the same way in another city with a few different people. Now I’ve arrived back inside my life with a clear new sense of the way forward and a greater appreciation of how little there is to happiness. 


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