There’s a painting crew that is frosting the windows of our office. Softens the sunlight and obscures the outside. There’s this one wall of windows that I can see clearly from my desk. Outside those windows is a narrow, concrete walkway. Not much to see and no real reason to go out there. So while I know that there’s nothing there, any visitors to the office will see those windows and wonder, “What’s out there, by chance?” It’s interesting. It’s the same as when you put vaseline on a camera lens to give it a flashback look. Things are in front of you. Just slightly out of focus and soft.
I say everything that’s on my mind. My emotions are on my sleeve. I’ve the worst poker face I know. Everything is exactly as it is. If anything changes, I may be caught off guard a few moments, but then I adapt. That’s what I do. One of my best qualities. This can lead to a very lonely life. I can understand the gravity of events and relationships. But I still adapt.
I lived in the same home all 22 years of my life before moving west to California. I never spent more than a week away from home at a time. Then I moved. And in the past 2 and a half years, I had at least a dozen jobs and 6 apartments. There was no room to hold onto anything. I have let places and people go from my life all in the name of me. And when I say ‘me’, I speak of the ‘me’ that is the dreams I have for my life. It is said that chasing your dreams can cost you everything. They do not lie.
While on the brink of losing, yet another person in my life, and a person most dear, I sit and I stare at those windows and debate whether they are the clear windows covered in frost-like paint. Or now they are something new, entirely. Either way, it means things will be different; they will have changed. And they will never be the same again.