The weather is changing, and so am I.
Last night in yoga class, I came to see how complicit my brain is in recalling a certain someone, nostalgically.
Near the end of class, sweaty and happy, I looked up from my pose, and glanced out the window. The sky was full of rolling clouds. White against grey against blue. Shining.
The sky was lit with that iridescence unique to summer nights.
I immediately thought of him.
He would love this.
And then I thought of myself thinking of him.
“Anita,” I said, “there are other people who like clouds.”
Why is this still just our thing — clouds — in my head?
I decided then and there I would share the beauty of clouds with other people in my brain.
I could see I was the one allowing for the brain connection between he and I, even though real life has set us on different tracks.
I would no longer take it as a “sign,” when seeing clouds or other things that bring him to mind, that I should be thinking about him.
Why go back into the web?
Instead, let’s get some travel plans on the books, baby. Go find all the other beautiful people who love clouds.
Some of them are prolly right here in this class.
This is what I want to say to you and I, dear reader.
If there is someone toying with your brain — someone no longer in your life, but you think of when them when you see such and such — and you’d like it to end?
Well, it’s up to you.
Give yourself a pass, too, when it’s hard. Memory can be a long thing in fading.
And do this — direct your wishes toward your own life, when you see something that stirs the soul.
There’s lots more to see and do.
There’s lot’s more to love and be.
“What after all is so natural to assume that one object, called by one name, should be known by one affection of the mind?”
— William James
