my only swerving

Dear K-

Why can’t I be more like a lake? I used to be a lake. It was a long time ago. Sometimes I can hardly remember. They told me I had two weeks to live, but I made liars out of people who only had the best intentions. I kept breathing, and for years after that I was a lake. It was refreshing. It was remarkable. The world was vast, and there was so much more to it than my small, narrow window had previously admitted me to see. I needed to be shown what lay beyond my reach. I needed to be shown what I would care the most about when I didn’t think I was going to live anymore.

That’s not something I would recommend most 19-year-olds to experience, but it certainly puts a perspective on things.

But I lost that. Somewhere along the way I’ve gotten all cluttered. Did you know in Slovenia there are disappearing lakes? Lake Cerknica is the largest of them. It appears and disappears with the seasons. Sometimes, I feel like that lake.

Today I almost cried, just listening to a song. I’ve listened to it too many times. Songs sometimes become like smells to me. You know how sometimes smells can evoke a certain visceral reaction, a memory? It’s like Proust’s madeleine. When I hear a song that I have heard again and again, I start to associate memories to it. This song in question doesn’t even necessarily evoke a firm memory. It is more of a state of mind. It makes me think of sitting in an airport, waiting for a flight. That eager anticipation of going someplace different, an escape, mingled with the anxiety of change of routine and thought of possible complications. I’ve found that I actually love sitting in airports. Some of my best moments of creative productivity have been while slouched down in an uncomfortable airport bench seat, next to complete strangers, my feet propped up on my suitcase in front of me. There’s something extremely satisfying about being in transition. It’s the only time my restlessness is relieved.

I am glad that we are friends. I don’t think anyone else could bear to hear how miserable and lost I am the majority of the time. I’m supposed to be the stable one. I’m supposed to know what I’m doing.

So they say.

-k