Life after social media and the meandering thought stream of deep consciousness

The open road still softly calls

Sometimes I catch myself in thought, lost in memories of times long since passed. There is always that longing to return to the places we’ve been, if for nothing else but to see them in a new light. Memories are strange like that, because no matter how you felt at the time, it’s how you remember them that sticks with you. Over time, those feelings can change, and so too does the memory. Sometimes I find myself at odds with the good times, because I know them now for what they truly were; fluff pieces. It’s not the laughter, or the friends or the high that sticks with you, it’s the little things. Something pure and honest that would have otherwise been completely lost had you not turned your head at the right moment. The way the cheeks creased on that girl you never met when she smiled. The way the wind ruffled the curtains as it blew in through the open bedroom window. The pop in that record that seemed, for that brief instant, perfect. You lose those things in the moment, only to remember them in a moment of clarity. Like a particle of dust dancing through a light beam, flickering into existence from a seemingly empty space. Like a hidden world that you’ve stumbled upon by chance, you’re given a brief glimpse of something that nobody else saw. For those brief moments, you and the universe are sharing a joke, telling a secret. You laugh with your eyes and let only the slightest grin escape you, so as to not draw attention; for these things can not be described to others who had not had that moment. The inside joke never to be repeated. It’s strange, though, that those little, tiny, seemingly insignificant moments, truly are the most significant. You find yourself shaped more by that speck of dust than by a hundred million parties; all the worlds parties. A hundred million friends. A hundred million memories. They blow away like smoke from lungs, and what you are left with is a speck of dust forever engrained in you. Carl Sagan once referred to the nomadic nature of humans by saying “The open road still softly calls”. Maybe it’s not the millions of miles of highway, the vast plains and tundras, nor the great expanse of space that calls us, but rather the tiny, fleeting moments that we will find along the way. The road less traveled is still but a road, and when you least expect it you may be shown a glimpse of a dream you forgot you had long, long ago.


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