Today, in a haze of angst and general mind blowing stress, I spent several hours cleaning my room, methodically hiding everything that may appear out of place. I attempted to load some pictures off of my camera to show to you, but they were really making me miss my friends badly, and it was bringing me down, so I will show them tomorrow probably.
This last week was great. It was exactly what I needed. I had forgotten how much I care for my friends, and I discovered how much they actually cared for me. It was truly a unique experience. I rode around in passenger-side bucket seats, seats that I have ridden in a hundred times before, but it was different this time, everything was slightly off skew. Windows I had gazed out of a thousand times before now shown a new landscape, a perspective I hadn't seen before.
When I saw my friends it was as if I had been reunited with a long lost relative. Everything clicked. And although I had been removed from the social circle for three months, I was so relieved to see my spot was still waiting for me when I got back. I brought with me a new outlook, a different viewpoint mixed with the person whom I am remembered as. I think I came back as a more rounded person, the only person in my social circle that has experienced a life beyond the barriers of Alaska's frozen walls.
But a part of me was melancholic about the whole experience. Life had carried on with my friends, and I was not a part of it. I was welcomed back warmly by most of my friends, but there was one close friend who really saddened me. Over the past few months her addiction to a particular opiate based drug has escalated alarmingly, and when I rode with her in her car she appeared to be vacant, still the same person, but distant. Maybe if I lived around her my presence would have some sort of impact, maybe strong enough to help her lay off particular drugs. Now I am three thousand miles away. I can never get through to her on the phone, and it is evident that I have no sway in the situation. It's really sad, she is such a great person.
My first morning in alaska I awoke and instinctively walked outside and stood on the porch, where I would stand, without moving, for fifteen minutes. It was quite meditative. For the first time in three months, literally, I heard absolutely nothing. The sun was spying on me through the trees, hid behind a fractal grid of branches. And I was content.
This last week was great. It was exactly what I needed. I had forgotten how much I care for my friends, and I discovered how much they actually cared for me. It was truly a unique experience. I rode around in passenger-side bucket seats, seats that I have ridden in a hundred times before, but it was different this time, everything was slightly off skew. Windows I had gazed out of a thousand times before now shown a new landscape, a perspective I hadn't seen before.
When I saw my friends it was as if I had been reunited with a long lost relative. Everything clicked. And although I had been removed from the social circle for three months, I was so relieved to see my spot was still waiting for me when I got back. I brought with me a new outlook, a different viewpoint mixed with the person whom I am remembered as. I think I came back as a more rounded person, the only person in my social circle that has experienced a life beyond the barriers of Alaska's frozen walls.
But a part of me was melancholic about the whole experience. Life had carried on with my friends, and I was not a part of it. I was welcomed back warmly by most of my friends, but there was one close friend who really saddened me. Over the past few months her addiction to a particular opiate based drug has escalated alarmingly, and when I rode with her in her car she appeared to be vacant, still the same person, but distant. Maybe if I lived around her my presence would have some sort of impact, maybe strong enough to help her lay off particular drugs. Now I am three thousand miles away. I can never get through to her on the phone, and it is evident that I have no sway in the situation. It's really sad, she is such a great person.
My first morning in alaska I awoke and instinctively walked outside and stood on the porch, where I would stand, without moving, for fifteen minutes. It was quite meditative. For the first time in three months, literally, I heard absolutely nothing. The sun was spying on me through the trees, hid behind a fractal grid of branches. And I was content.
posted by josh @ 8:14 PM
