Feels like the first time

This is something that has actually been on my mind for awhile now, but a conversation with a friend brought it back to the surface.

I remember a time some years back when I first got out on my own. After college, I moved back in with my folks as a temporary arrangement until I got on my feet. This temporary arrangement lasted 3 years. The upside of it was that I was with my family when my dad died. It allowed all of us to be much closer during that difficult time.

Ironic to that point, is that it was just a few months later when I found a place of my own.

I was working a paper route, and would get up painfully early in the morning to drive across town to our newspaper and pick up my load of bundles. Most of the time, the presses were behind, and I had as much as 3 hours to kill. Often, I’d spend that time driving around our sleepy downtown.

On one of these occasions I happened to glance up at a 2-1/2 story brick storefront, and see “apartment for lease” in one of the 3 huge windows upstairs. I circled the block, and wrote down the number. When my girlfriend came up to visit over Thanksgiving, we checked it out. It was cozy; it was quaint.

I signed the paperwork the following week.

And then I began a new adventure!

Moving in was no big thing. But I remember my excitement each morning as I woke up downtown. I was also working as a freelance designer, so I would move from bed to computer, then to shower in the mornings. I remember looking out my blinds – watching the men and women, especially the women, in their suits and jeans and their walking to and fro on the sidewalk – and think to myself “man, this is someplace!”

I was excited to be making it on my own! I had my own neighborhood now! I was paying rent and utilities – I was contributing to the financial health of my community! I was my own boss – I could go to bed with my clothes on, or go to work in my underwear, and no one could complain! I stocked my own refrigerator, cleaned my own windows! Everything I did seemed to sparkle with its own magic.

But that was a long time ago. Today, I live at an address – a crossing of two streets, nothing more, nothing less. My mind is now filled with thoughts about what I am doing, where I am heading: can I make this meeting on time, how will I design this website, is the government truely acting in the interest of its citizens.

With experience, I have come to learn that the things I once thought to be so exciting, are actually the most mundane components of everyone’s existance. They are neither unique nor interesting. What’s unique is the way I uniquely contribute to the others around me – my design skills, my advice, my time and emotions. And if sometimes these are not exciting, they are still interesting to me or I would not do them.

So I have moved on from that initial excitement. Through my experience, I have grown away from that naive perspective of my world. But does that mean I should let that enthusiasm slip away? Is there not some merit to be found in the excitement of the mundane?

I believe that there is. I enjoy the sensation of excitement, of happiness. I enjoy seeing the sparkles of magic from things I now consider routine. There is a healthy benefit from the childlike appreciation of beauty in the world.

I seek to hold on to that. To rejeuvenate it on occasion. I find that if I clear my mind, I can once again appreciate the wonder, the spendor, of “being on my own”. I can marvel at the centerpoint of my community being the 200 year old Capitol building. I can smile and delight in startling a sidewalker as I spring from my doorway in the morning.

I can hold on to the beauty of youth, even in my experienced age.

And I do that with everything that I can.

I glance out my window here at my office sometimes, and remember my excitement when I looked out the first time. I have a WINDOW! I reflect on my timidity as I explored my building, and started to be recognized by my coworkers. I remember the tingle in my feet as I walked up that sidewalk on my way to my hiring interview.

I remember the headiness of driver’s ed. I remember my solemn excitement when my dad presented me with the Dodge Omni. I remember every crack and rock and tree the first time I drove home from Phoenix on my own, in one day. I remember the practical sadness as I took my things out of the T-Bird before it was auctioned.

I revive the awkward tingleness the first time I made a serious pass at a girl. My silent pride as my football coach made a model of me to my teammates at a freezing, drizzly practice.

I drive through a hiway interchange north of town, and remember marveling at its construction, its size, its scope, as my father drove me through it almost 30 years ago. I remember when I was young enough to believe that riding in the car through the different boroughs of town was being “someplace else”.

I remember the thrill every time I tried something new (only one time each) with my best buddy.

I remember and I cling to and renew those feelings. Because in reality, there is nothing new. Nothing has changed since then til now. The actions are the same, the places are the same, and if it wasn’t bad to feel that way then, why should it be bad to feel that way now?

The world hasn’t changed. My perception of the world has changed. And only I can decide how I will respond to truth.