Navin R. Johnson: Why are you crying? And why are you wearing that old dress?
Marie Kimble Johnson: Because I just heard a song on the radio that reminded me of the way we were.
Navin R. Johnson: What was it?
Marie Kimble Johnson: “The Way We Were.”
Lately, I’ve been feeling a modest tinge of nostalgia. A whisper, here or there, of fall, that prevalent, soothing reminder of decay and passing, that gentle quietus, both in the archaic and modern sense. Maybe that’s it. Normally, that’d be eww, gross, gag me, but this isn’t some pathetic whining about And All That Could’ve Been, but rather, a strong undercurrent of contentment. You know, looking at my past with a confident, “no holds barred, what’s regret? never heard of it” perspective and feeling my future slowly shape into something I really want and worked hard for.
When I say lately, I mean the last 72 hours, maybe a week. Soon, I will slip back into the disordered panic and anxiety that drives my life, the paranoid pestering that, without, I would be a stable, boring individual lacking any ambition.
Optimism is not only cowardly, it’s obnoxious, especially if you’re less than happy, so I invite you to join in and make this less about me. Lately, I’ve noticed when I tamp down my neurosis with alcohol and social settings and THC, the jabber between friends is on a loop. It’s either pop culture or things we did in the week or current events — not boring, but I wish it was something that was a little deeper.
Last night, while burning things around a little bonfire, I asked my friends to share their goals with me. Specifically, where you see yourself in a year. It was refreshing to see where everyone stands and where they want to be. It’s not a question that you get much. But I want to be in tune like this with all my friends. Not sure how to do this without sounding like a camp counselor, so I guess, just let it out. There’s no wrong answer except saying you have no goals. Not to be a dick, but that sounds like a life unexamined and well, you know what they say about that kind of existence. I’m curious what you want from life.
How does it feel to be loved?
*For the record, I would like to get a new car, finish this draft of this novel and find a city with a thriving music scene and a full-time job with an alternative magazine. That’s where I see myself in 365 days.