Don’t make me your past

The morning and evenings in Sydney are some of the most precious moments in the last five months of being here. It’s those moments when I feel completely in touch with myself and the city. In those moments the windows are either dark and quiet or lit and alive and in those moments I listen to music and read and not feel any particular emotion. In those moments I feel completely still, completely fulfilled, without a worry and with no hint of frustration.

Sometimes I run in the mornings. By the water front, across the steep hill in Glebe, stopping for a quick piccolo latte at Madame Frou Frou’s – the first cafe I ever stopped at on my first day here – before continuing down the road, across the fishmarket, and up another hill to get back home. Thoughts come and go but they don’t linger around long enough for me to actually know what I am thinking. I just feel their soft wisp and let them go.

And although I miss the busy sounds and creative energy of New York, or the bustling filled planes of Bangkok, or the dry Czech humor that always points to our seriousness and insecurities, or the Wroclaw small-town big spirit, all of those places are no good for me now. For now I need to commit to the next mile in my run and the next 500 words in my writing and the next year of being authentic. So here goes to this place at the end of the world that makes it possible for now and that gives me the sweetest longing memories of times long gone and friends long departed.

Everything is so close now: March is coming, we are on the same side of the world, the date has been set, and I’ll let everything spin from there. All I can influence is what comes after. All I need to be I will be.

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