My finger hovered over his name on my phone. We’d been best friends in college, but over 15 years, we had two marriages, five kids, a dog and worlds of responsibility each divided between us, and these had caused us to grow apart. It was a slow thing. We’d gotten together regularly early on, but with each added item on our respective to-do list, the gulf between us slowly widened. The differences we’d overlooked, in personality, philosophies, politics, parenting. They became more and more glaring. We were both stubborn, though; that much was the same. We got together once a year for guys’ weekend. I categorically dreaded every year, because if I was being honest with myself, I was terrified that we would have grown so different, so apart, that I would have to be faced with the fact we didn’t know each other anymore.
So I avoided him. I avoided reaching out. I avoided the very thing that would help us grow infinitesimally closer together. Why? Because I was afraid of who he’d become, and who’d I become, in the absence of one another.
I hit the home button on my phone, and opened an app to scroll mindlessly, instead of doing what I knew, deep down, I should have done.
Sometimes the best ways to reach out are the least direct. Something as easy as asking someone if they want some coffee, helping clean their apartment, assisting them on a project, accompanying them to the store, or just regularly talking to them about their day. There are so many beautifully different ways to reach out and show that we care, and that’s one of the most powerful types of magiq there can be.
So I’ve had this giant sheet of watercolor paper for like two months that I haven’t done anything with…so my goal is to end up with 30 lil micro paintings on this thing by the month’s end? Here’s week one:
A long shadow - Sabes with a dramatic purple shadow.
A place for hiding - like hiding in the internet?
Words unwritten - A painting on a scroll. My thought was that images are kind of words unwritten? You can look at an image and associate with a word but there’s no actual words written.
A broken but mended thing - Ok, kind of stereotypical here, but a broken heart, stapled together.
Hope, unfettered - Deirdre, the hope of the Age of Magiq.
A promise made - A pinky promise, pretty straightforward.
Reaching out - Constance, reaching out to the memories she lost.
I’ll post better quality photos at the end of the month, once everything is there and polished.
Do you ever regret not following through on something?
Not going to that party, not fighting for that loved one,
not going to that class, or not living life to the fullest?
Sometimes I think about those paths. sometimes I regret not taking them.
And then I remember what I’ve gained.
I’ve found true friends.
I’ve found a second and third family
I’ve found the love of my life.
All because of the path I’ve taken.
The Path Unfollowed is always something to think about.
but never will it be seen.
The path, unfollowed, lies
obscured within the dim
and dusky valley, shot
with possibilities
unseen, and promises
unspoke, and hazards dropped
upon the road, careless,
by giants littering
the Otherworld with things
to occupy your mind
when you are caught in thorns
or brambles, where no one
has marked a proper trail;
when you encounter yet
another broken bridge,
another unlit curve,
or yet another fork
upon the path you picked,
and can’t untrod.
Hark! A Light!
At the end of the tunnel! A Light!
Fresh air and the end of darkness await!
We must hurry, to reach that light in time
before the tunnel closes back up into the labyrinth of shadow.
Quickly! Run for the light!
Sometimes I stare out at the sea and wonder.
I see days spent on bluffs overlooking a vast sea.
I walk along the walls of the castle and breathe in that salted air.
Time spent in a hammock in the forest.
the soft thud of boots on the floors of a cavern.
Magiq books that led me to other worlds.
and then i return. the memory fades as quickly as it came, and im back in the mundane, staring out at the sea.
like an itch
beneath the surface
tingling at you from the inside
unable to be grasped - yet - still restrained
by unsifted soil, or unshifted skin, until it finally gives.
For me, it’s all about smell. The connection between smell and memory has been well-validated scientifically, of course, but I’m always struck by how powerful that connection is; startled even. People, places and things that haven’t crossed my mind in decades suddenly comes hurtling to the forefront of my consciousness, all from a faint scent detected around me.
The perfume my first grade teacher wore. The hotel in Disney World when I was twelve. My high school home-ec classroom. My grandmother making Sunday dinner; the smell of her cooking. My best friend’s beard oil. My childhood dog when he was a brand new puppy. The hospital where I had a surgery as a young child; my earliest memory I can remember.
All of these things brought back, as clear as if they were yesterday. It amazes me how strong this connection is, and how often it happens. I cherish it.
A memory resurfacing.
There are all sorts of things I remember about my father. Personality traits, treasured moments, fun quirks. But some things slip through the cracks over the years. One day while cleaning I found this old tape. As soon as I saw it I remembered the two tapes he always had in his car. An ancient Disney tunes tape and this Last Crusade one. I could then recall all the drives, whether five minutes or several hours, he would constantly be playing one of the two tapes. I would always pair those songs to the feeling of sitting in a hot car with my hand hanging out the window to feel the air; travel.
Now I take it everywhere and if I’m lucky to be in a car with a cassette player, I insist on playing it so I can relive that feeling and enjoy the memories that resurface.
takes place over the radio, names changed to position abbreviations
SS: Hey MOD…
MOD: Yes…
SS: There’s a spider in the vending machine, who takes care of that?
MOD: …how much is it?
SS: $1.50.
11: Beginning Again
Reloading a Save, reshuffling the cards, passing out your new game pieces
We start over, we begin the game again.
Because sometimes we miss out on something, or we want to try something else in the game.
We come back to the game, to play and enjoy, to see something new, even if we’ve played it a million times before.
Because that simple act, restarting the game, either in a new session, or by reloading a save, creates a brand new experience.
We live millions of lives, minutes at a time. We create, we exalt, and see the new world.
All because we chose to Start Again.
“Beginning again” gets me in the feels, for sure. I’ve been keeping busy, (I work for a state park in the PNW and always have my hands full with stuff), and am away from home and internet a lot so I can sort of pretend my little network is still around, but when I think about it, I’m definitely in “beginning again” frame of mind after losing the Low and most of my friendlies there. You’ve all been so welcoming, so cool and kind, but I feel a little lost right now.
