So there is this life in the distance–one that’s images are slowly fading, but only because I have been forcing them away for so long now.
I’ve only scrolled back so far in my Facebook photos, for example, before I close the page and return to ‘today’. Because it still stings, two years later. It’s hard to accept where I’ve been compared to where I am now and so I’ve allow myself only to focus on the present. Until today. It’s amazing how a total stranger or new experience can radically change your thought process in an instant. And so for a just a minute, I allow myself a quick glimpse into yesterday.
All of a sudden I’m afraid of forgetting every detail of picnicking near pink, snow-capped mountains overlooking a wild turquoise sea, and running on perfectly packed trails through the deepest emerald green forests with honey dripping from the the trees in the spring.
And those sandy beaches filled with innocence – the locals foraging for food in the water and the families jumping from docks into the bay, foreign accents everywhere and me in the middle of it all in absolute wonder at how I’d found myself there in the first place. The road trips with mandatory stops at the best coffee shops in each city, even though we just had one 50 miles back. The near-death hikes around and on top of foggy mountain edges, where you weren’t only happy to reach the top because you were utterly exhausted, but because you didn’t fall into oblivion on the way up.
And this picture above of a typical wild New Zealand beach on a winter day. Hardly a soul in sight except for the die-hard surfers, along with freezing wind, screaming seagulls and indescribable beauty that even this picture couldn’t capture.
How many more things can I recall before melancholy sits in and you, reader, tire of someone else’s memories? I’m probably close, so I’ll end it with these words that took me into that wonderland in the first place and keep me believing in magic:
Follow your heart. Every. Damn. Day.