This is the first mountain I climbed and the first mountain I climbed with my boyfriend. We planned on taking a short hike which turned into a day’s adventure. Pat kept pushing me to do my best and make it to the top. When we reached the peak of Mount LeConte, my head was literally in the clouds. It’s not what I expected, but sometimes life is better that way.
I often feel that transitions are the hardest. We experience transitions enough that we would expect to know how to successfully deal with them. Yet, we set expectations for our future selves which may or may not happen. We sometimes idealize others and are harsh on ourselves. I resonate with this photo I took because it represents different stages of growth; the harsh beginnings and flourishing middle ones. I struggle to write endings.
I recently went to Bar Harbor, Maine to visit my boyfriend’s family for his grandmother’s 80th birthday party. Sometimes it’s overwhelming to meet new people, but I felt at home. Being in Maine is like being trapped in between dimensions of rock and a beautiful place.
Did you ever feel lonely surrounded by so many people? Better yet, did you ever feel it was comforting to watch time stand still in a moment where you can observe something so amazing and forget about everyone else? A moment to be at peace at oneself, lucky to be alive in the moment or simply acceptance is a rare beauteous thing.
I found a poem I wrote and read at a poetry reading recently. I received some compliments on its imagery and thought of this photo I took in the Colonial Park Cemetery in Savannah, GA.
What Will It Be This Time?
I run my fingertips
Along the grooves of the bricks at my knees—
I grit their teeth between buried secrets
And the cracks are like those of his fallacies.
They are rudimentary
Buried in the cemetery
Of our unspoken words
That still linger in drafts
Of text messages.
I put my back against the universe,
And choke back my tears
In a single shot.
“What will it be this time?” he asks again
As I watch the fake candle light
Flicker its brightest star,
Then die in effigy,
Leaking battery acid.
“I’m not a hopeless romantic
Anymore,” I say,
And he gives me the usual
Overstated with gold flaked parlay.
This glass swirls and spins a fairy tale
Of someone else’s fantasy,
Full of unfulfilled promises.
When I took this photo, I lived in Charleston, South Carolina. I thought of how transitory life seemed to be, especially for those of whom are in the Navy. If Valentine’s Day makes you sick like it seems like it does for most people, contact someone you miss. In the words of Bojack Horseman, “In this terrifying world, all we have are the connections that we make.”