Walking becomes a lifestyle in the city. 1,300 steps to the subway. 2,400 steps to class. 1,800 steps to internship. These steps quickly become routines, the day-to-day sights and surroundings becoming familiar, save for the occasional new construction zone or days where, for some unknown reason, I feel inclined to choose a different street. Although the path rarely strays, one thing remains ever-changing—the people. Each day, I pass new families gathered in our neighborhood’s tiny communal square; old men play chess alongside young adventurers who turn the fountain’s edge into a tightrope, trusting pennies and wishes to catch their fall if strong arms don’t snag them up first. Chatty dog owners’ stroll by, their companion’s legs moving exceptionally quickly as its white fur, somehow immune to the rest of the city’s griminess, blows in the brisk wind alongside their flopping tongues. Bus stops fill with people, the stem of a leaf that will soon stretch its veins as commuters make their way across the city. Phrases surround me—snippets of lives and stories I’ll never really know. “In California, they don’t do stuff like this.” “He’s a miserable son of a bitch I’ll tell you why.” “It’s a warzone. You just don’t know.” I catch little tidbits of these exchanges, always just a traveling thought or a conversation cut short with each further step. Always passing. Always incomplete.
That’s how this past month has felt—incomplete. I’ve sat down to blog many times in the last 4 weeks, but each time, I never seemed able to finish a single post. My thoughts and questions would spill onto a page, but no resolution or real coherent conclusion ever followed.
There’s much to say and many instances I could write about. I could tell you about the election season—nights chanting at rallies becoming days crying in coffee shops. The day after the election was sober here as rain poured down and protests sprung up; the entire city of Philadelphia seemed to be in mourning. I could also tell you about laughing alongside my Trump-supporting friends soon after, singing goofy songs and looking the humanity of either side of this election right in the eyes. I could tell you about my Thanksgiving break, spent visiting Fayetteville, Stillwater, Edmond, and Durham. There’s certainly a lot to share there with friends embraced, stories exchanged, and new memories made for the first time in months. There have been museums visited, dogs pet, and people met, yet here I remain, post-less.
I think most of these stories find a much more appropriate home in my personal journal, because those entries don’t require a wrap up; I can freely leave a sentence incomplete or jot down a quick memory. Alternatively, these blog entries must be edited and crisp—a standard demanded only by my own innate perfectionism. A well-articulated opinion, in my mind, surpasses any true emotional point trying to be conveyed. Logic and explanation have consumed me, and it’s come to the point of being sad, boring, and, above all, exhausting. For once, I’m ready to just listen and to contemplate, to question and to explore—no discoveries or eureka moments required; instead, I’ll welcome only half-crafted thoughts to come back to later and ideas I couldn’t yet begin to articulate. I’m realizing that I am incredibly open to hearing others’ thoughts and opinions, but I am perhaps more so set in my own ways regarding the thoughts and opinions I already have. I enjoy engaging in conflict or debate, but that’s because I tend to always have a well-researched answer to share or a polished point to prove. So rarely, it seems, am I ever open to truly considering opposing views, rather than just recognizing their existence or exploring their reasoning. I’ve come to a point where I think it’s time I give these alternate beliefs a real chance and that means leaving a few strings untied and a few things unfinished.
As I type this blog piece into my word document filled with 8 other unfinished posts, I glance next to me at a book that lies unfinished on my bedside table right beside the ever-growing pile of my unfinished laundry and you know what? I think it’s all ok.
I’m hoping to post a few of these aforementioned unfinished posts over the break…but no promises :)
