escapism
suddenly the overwhelming desire to change location descends like a ton of bricks. really heavy and clear ones. time to go. to move on. somewhere else. to leave.
what a beautiful thought. i've finally subscribed to the disease of escapism. or maybe i'm just realizing that there are so many other places out there to explore, to get to know.
i hate the idea of running away from people. they're the same everywhere. moving to a new place just means revisiting the same problems with new faces. leaving close relationships to start from the beginning again.
it is the notion of new coffee shops, beaches, waves, apartments, jobs, streets, loves that is so enticing. and where will i go? portland? colorado? san francisco? chicago? (no, not chicago. not yet) what will i find? what will i learn?
maybe this is an itch i could scratch by spending some time isolated in the mountains or something. but i'm not convinced it would, i long for change. cities feel like other planets, and i've always been keen on space travel...
imagine that... to watch the earth from above, to see it turning, the freedom from gravity, the quiet distance from all people, and the poetry of something so majestic... i wonder how Jesus must've felt- looking down from the heavens, with control of the entire universe, knowing he would be subjected to human nature. to birth, death and all the joys in between. i wonder what he dreaded more... the descent from heaven into human form or the pain of death. sure puts the advent season into perspective.
what a beautiful thought. i've finally subscribed to the disease of escapism. or maybe i'm just realizing that there are so many other places out there to explore, to get to know.
i hate the idea of running away from people. they're the same everywhere. moving to a new place just means revisiting the same problems with new faces. leaving close relationships to start from the beginning again.
it is the notion of new coffee shops, beaches, waves, apartments, jobs, streets, loves that is so enticing. and where will i go? portland? colorado? san francisco? chicago? (no, not chicago. not yet) what will i find? what will i learn?
maybe this is an itch i could scratch by spending some time isolated in the mountains or something. but i'm not convinced it would, i long for change. cities feel like other planets, and i've always been keen on space travel...
imagine that... to watch the earth from above, to see it turning, the freedom from gravity, the quiet distance from all people, and the poetry of something so majestic... i wonder how Jesus must've felt- looking down from the heavens, with control of the entire universe, knowing he would be subjected to human nature. to birth, death and all the joys in between. i wonder what he dreaded more... the descent from heaven into human form or the pain of death. sure puts the advent season into perspective.
posted by Sarah G at 3:28 PM
2 Comments:
does anyone ever really lose the itch?
You must read the opening paragraph of the Proem of George Eliot's Romola. It ends with: "As our thought follows close in the slow wake of the dawn, we are impressed with the broad sameness of the human lot, which never alters in the main headings of its history — hunger and labour, seed-time and harvest, love and death." I.e., the grass is always green (but it really is in Chicago...well, most of the time).
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