Like a High School Crush


The weather felt like a high school crush.

It was far too nice outside. I had to open up the house and let it breathe. I probably needed to do the same.

I was working on some campaign concepts for a client, and I had some strong ideas, but they were circling just slightly out of reach. I hadn’t used this part of my mind for quite some time, and had started to wonder if I even could anymore. A gentle gust of wind cut through the front windows of my lonely little bungalow stirring up dust and dog hair. Suddenly, my home felt far less comfortable and accommodating than it had for the past few years of self-imposed exile from the greater society at large.

I needed a change, even if it was as simple as the scenery.

I assembled my laptop, notes, booze, cigarettes and dogs and migrated out back, past my neglected bathroom and mess of a kitchen. Solitude was slowly turning my house into a single man’s cliche complete with empty bottles and full ashtrays scattered about like thrift store chotsky. It didn’t bother me, and my dogs didn’t care. There was nobody else to impress.

It was beautiful outside. The weather felt like a high school crush. The whole world was made golden by the sun, and the breeze felt like pure energy. The day felt open ended; there was opportunity, even if it wasn’t obvious. It made me feel a strange anticipation for something potentially wonderful. The sun was so inviting I felt as if I might actually find a way to step into the light and embrace it. The day felt like falling in love for the very first time—new and wonderful.

It was a feeling that had become rather foreign to me.

I could hear the music escaping from my living room, a constant attempt to fill an otherwise silent space. Outside, dogs barked and the neighborhood buzzed with the simple ritual of lawn maintenance and weekend activity. They were far enough away to blend in and add to the greater landscape, but immediate and present enough to remind me there was, indeed a world outside of my mind.

Those campaign ideas were still floating above me, still just out of reach. I needed to think.

Perhaps that was my problem. Thinking had surpassed an exercise or past time and graduated to a nervous tick. I inhabited my mind every bit as much as my safe little bungalow, reflecting on everything. Retrospect had replaced warm memory, and every little moment had transformed into a cautionary tale to learn from. There was no room for regret, but plenty of space to fill with reflection. I had already asked the questions, and for the most part, accepted the answers—at least the ones I was able to find. There were a hundred victories and a thousand tragedies, and I had relived every single one.

It was time to stop.

The weather felt like a high school crush, and all it required was a deep breath and a quiet moment to appreciate. Nothing else was necessary.

It would all be within reach soon enough.


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