How long it has been. To sit and think about anything but next project, its people and the pains they bring. And life has kept happening, oblivious to the grand plans I dream up and minor inconveniences I frown at. At times, I stop in my tracks to realize I am in my mid-30s. Meaning, half my time has flown by.
The very next thought that unfailingly hits me is about the outlandish dreams I once had so naively dreamt for myself. Makes me feel funny & wistful at the same time.
I've come to work with people who are obsessively ambitious. Almost to the point of wondering if they know they are not here forever. They chase their dreams so feverishly that it's very fascinating and tiresome at the same time. On good days, it reminds me that it's not too late to dust the naive, outlandish dreams out of the dream-vault (that everyone has). On bad days, it makes me long for the lightness of being unaccountable for anything.
I reach airports well in time. A little too well in time, often. It leaves me with a lot of time at boarding gates. Amid yawning adults and bored kids, I yank away at my laptop. When I don't, I think about who I've come to be. It pleases me to have become a resilient and an accountable person. I like that about the 30-something-me.
Talking of airports -- being displaced from home makes me despair. I have always been a deeply rooted homeboy, who didn't bother visits but hated stays. In fact, I always have taken pride in being a homeboy who felt pinched by distance & the despair it causes. Lately, all that changed a bit. It's because I travel dizzyingly. I travel so much that I don't have time for the sweet melancholy of a displaced homeboy.
But many hundreds of miles away, I have a home. One that I've built with a woman I trust more than I trust myself. A home that awaits my fortnightly return. A home where I seek and find quiet.
