a sun, set
Today was the first time in a long time that I have felt so alive. Alive in the sense of which I explained years ago - the feeling of living in the space between the climax and the resolution, of completing a task that you found strenuous, before existing in the consequence of completion.
So I am currently on my solo-hiking-trip after cancelling the out-of-town-wedding-of-a-near-stranger-trip. I’ve never really solo-tripped before, so my intentions are to not be intentional for once in my life. Instead, I’ll opt in to the idea of feeling.
However, my own desire to finally not overthink (and to just feel) is stuck in an ever-existing contradiction because for me, feeling takes an intentional toll of thought of what it takes to turn off those very thoughts.
The beginning of giving up control for myself was to take a train, and be forced to not focus on the road. The ride was phenomenal, a whopping 16 hours to go a distance it would take 9 hours to drive. A physical ride toward some mountains. An emotional ride to an unknown destination that I’m still on as I write this.
I had so many phenomenal memories from that ride, and realized that if I wanted to learn more about myself, I first needed to be willing to learn about other people. This solo trip feels anything but solo.
I met someone. On an app. On the train. We talked about horror, and that joy we receive from it. It sprawled into a conversation that lasted late into the morning (the train was arriving around 3AM, so I was in and out of sleep). A perfect stranger. A friend. A friend who had never ridden the train before, but had heard of its journey. A journey I was well-versed in and ready to talk about, resulting in a kiss in the basement of a bookshop twelve hours after the train arrived. I didn’t know bookshops had basements, but I wasn’t well-versed in bookshops.
It’s short term, and I honestly don’t feel bad about it. It’s fun to put myself out there as if my reputation isn’t at stake. I feel comfortable in my own shoes, and they feel like they are fitting just a bit better. And I know I’m still as wholesome, funny, and intentional through it all.
Then I got to do some hikes, specifically today’s hike. A long one, I began my journey, starting later than I originally intentioned because the Blue Ridge Parkway was closed. However, the Parkway being closed allowed me to walk on the road itself (the hike was one mile down the Highway 215 access point).
I later arrived at the Devil’s Courthouse, where I felt nothing, nor did I understand why it was named as such. I liked that. And in true Louisiana fashion, I found someone from Covington who had gone to school in Ruston. (Side note: I’ve also ran into 2 folks from Shreveport on NYE and two Saints fans at a local beer garden, because of course I did.)
I continued on to the peak of the trail I was on, and, once at the top, realized it was getting dark quickly. I know the Appalachian horror stories. I know the gamble of being unprepared in those mountains after dark. That kind of folklore doesn’t leave one’s mind easily. I edited my journey back to try and create a loop to at least get back to the Blue Ridge Parkway by dark, even if it meant extending the journey. Better to be on the parkway after dark on foot than within the trees.
I made it to the road, and I was met with holiness itself. A sun, set. A sky fully alive. A myriad of colors. I began to count them, to try and name them, and to attach myself to each one in some way, each color blending into the next, where each color was defined, blurred, yet whole. As I write this, I understand this relation clearer than ever, because I share that relation. There is no train stop on the Blue Ridge Parkway, but it was a part of the journey.
-s
date unknown
