Drifting. Heavy like a bag of flour, weightless like a dandelion seed. Water trickling at my ears and at my feet and at my stomach and at my cheeks. Heart pounding like it’s been thrust somewhere millions of miles away. Pulsing in the waves.
I float in a moon-shaped swimming pool, packaged and designed as good as anything you’d find beneath the jaundiced glare of Walmart lights. The water is as blue as strangers say my eyes are. The clouds are downy above me, soft as feathers. I hold my breath and I am everywhere.
These moments of being suspended in the middle of something are as rare as they are beautiful. I don’t have enough of them.
Lately, I’ve been consumed by the idea of experiencing. That’s why (newsflash!) I’m going skydiving next month for my birthday. That’s why I chose to stumble out of the pool and book it to my car wearing nothing but my swimming suit and my camera to catch the sunset before it trickled away. That’s why I’m considering Comic-Con in September and putting down my camera more often and doing crazy stupid things, like jumping off of a bridge 12 times and swimming across the river twice.
I think it hit me the other day that sharing my opinions is not as important as experiencing the things I’m not familiar with. Sitting behind a screen and telling people what I think is not as fulfilling as sitting beneath the stars and analyzing how I feel. If I can’t afford to travel the world like I always dreamed of doing, I’ll attack the world I know at every angle I can. Because I want to experience everything I am willing to experience.
Even if it takes logging off or turning off or zoning out or silencing the things that distract me from leaving the comfort of my world.