Diluted

There’s something overwhelmingly calm and peaceful about a storm if all you’re doing is watching. As I look out my window I attempt to capture some element of what I see on my phone so I can send pictures home to my Mother and to Hawaii to show my sister just how different our worlds truly are. The branches of my tree blow wildly in the wind as the snow comes from every direction, pelting the world with powder. There are even a few hours when the plows stop running, and I gaze upon the swaying limbs in silence as the falling flakes dance under the streetlights.

  

I trudge to the gym, rain, snow, sleet, or hail. I get to my bastion of self-exploration in the heat and humidity of the summer as well, cursing my compression shorts and the fact that society requires me to wear a shirt even if it’s soaked with sweat. I need my sanity, snow or no. In the blizzard, it takes me well over 45 minutes to get there, find out it’s closed, hurl unattended curses at the glass door upon which the abhorrent piece of paper is taped, and come back. Every surface seems to be wrapped up like a present, something pure and kindhearted, frozen water grasping tightly to renew simplicity. It’s deceptive though. I step carefully, attempting to pick my spots for foot placement, occasionally mistaking muck for frozen ice, and the top of the cement for merely the top of three or four layers of snow. Up the stairs to the fourth floor, my Newbalance shoes are now clean to say the least . . . or perhaps just promisingly wet, and my feet and face are now warm and dry, so no harm done. I was hoping the library would be open, because as I hung my head and walked back it occurred to me that writing would serve the same cathartic purpose for me this evening.

The gym is my escape, though I would prefer it empty rather than packed with a vast array of individuals who have no clue what they’re doing but refuse to accept assistance. I go into the weight room with a head full of questions, judgments, social commentary, worldly critiques, and I leave blissfully. I emerge in a state of eustress induced euphoria. Endorphins help for sure, but I think it’s the distraction of a difficult task, an immediate challenge placed before me that makes the other ones momentarily inconsequential. It’s where I find my sense of purpose amidst all of the long-term uncertainty. Writing has the same effect for me . . . though it can also tend to stir up more questions and lead me to pontificate far too deeply on issues that should be easily expounded upon.

Walking though, it breeds the pontification . . . and it seems like I’m always walking. Running through my head is a constant stream of questions and observations, judgments and criticisms fueled by self-doubt and regret. I’m searching for a purpose, straining to discover a reason as to why we’re here, why I’m here. I traipse on through the rainy blizzard, the temperature of the air just a few degrees too high for the snow to stick to the ground, but the flakes themselves seem to easily manage to cling to the outer lining of my jacket. They dance across my face, their frailty soothing, while the bombardment itself remains slightly irritating. Refusing to blink, staring dead ahead like a lion stalking prey on an open plane, I just keep walking. Over the bridge the wind is harsh, the buildings on either end create a vortex of frigid air, and I glance down to watch taillights disappear into the foggy night. The red beams fade and on the other side white ones quickly approach. The exhaust from the car in front eerily illuminated by the headlights of the trailing vehicle, the movement on the highway is captured like a photograph of a jet breaking the sound barrier. The trails of steam tenderly flow over and around the high-paced mechanisms, playing in traffic. It’s always dark during the winter, the clouds gaze ominously down waiting for me to emerge from shelter, to expose myself to the elements they are prepared to unleash.

Spending too much time in one’s own head is a frightening prospect, and also an obscuring habit. While I continue to walk, run, bike, drive, or simply continually move onward through this existence of mine, I take heed of my own warning about becoming overly self-involved. We need to step outside of ourselves in order to address the issues we face as a society and as a species. The majority of the comments and interpretations I have are subjective and uniquely individual opinions based on personal experiences, and I am in good company in that regard. In order to actively generate universal understanding, we all have to remove ourselves and our experiences from the equation because the limited amount of information we possess creates a narrow view that is not applicable to the world at large. This is difficult for the simple reasons I’ve just exhibited, we are acutely aware of the minutia of our own perceptions and sensations.