I love to move.
I love moving in a way that allows me to really feel the air, feel in control of the force of my feet hitting the ground, propelling me forward just as I slam against the earth.
And I'm maybe not always searching for something specific. It is more of a push, a direction, a drive that denotes a wish to know more by physically going somewhere.
And I have decided that this sort of movement revitalizes me just as it saps me of my energy.
Peering through tree branches or windows, speeding down trails, cobblestone roads, up winding staircases. Not knowing for that which I look except some sort of temporary satisfaction,
a satisfaction of the absolute need to experience the unexperienced; brushing up against the unknown again and again.
it is a gateway to feeling full by letting my eyes graze on shapes, my fingers glide over textures, my nose take in smells they’ve never known before. It causes my heart to jump as thoughts flood my mind; all new to me. Or maybe it causes a long-latent thought to come back to me along with an extension of itself, or maybe even an answer.
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Similarly, but differently, I like to rest.
To have a period of time characterized by more internally pensive sessions with the up-front requirements of hearty reading material, a good journal, and some close friends in order to experience the new,
instead of physical treks and long machinations of the muscle.
These instead are periods where days are spent reading in lovely and familiar nooks or couches, and the adventures to be had rest more in my own mind rather than out my door.
They are periods marked by mornings I remain 1/8th asleep for the first few hours of the day, allowing my system to boot slowly and at its own pace, and only shedding my sleepy skin after the sun has bared its full face and my mind has caught up to the moment (usually thanks to a sweet morning ritualistic imbibe of a cup or two of coffee).
Periods of rest are when I can reflect upon the creative and inspirational fodder I have gathered in periods of the ragged.
But there are adventures to be had in the periods of rest as well as the ragged; the stretching of the sinew doesn’t necessarily always have to trump the stretching of the gray matter in its allure and value.
I find I desire both, but it’s rather hard to not crave the other while you are in a period of predominantly one of them. It takes a conscious effort to truly enjoy being tired, or truly appreciate the assurance and temporal cadence of a routine quiet, without constantly wishing for the opposite to balance out the extreme which you are experiencing.
Thus, right now, all I want is to carry all of my belongings on my back again, and race to see Der Kiss before a train is bound to take me to Prague at 9am, hundreds of miles away. To constantly be moving so that my next meal isn’t just desired; it is absolutely crucial to power my body for the next few hours. And the moment I sit down at the end of the day, I can feel my body breathe a sigh of relief.
I want to find bits of my soul in crevices beneath cities,
in underground bars and in the crooks of the trees surrounding my hundred-year-old hostel.
In the bottoms of bowls of food I’ve never eaten before.
I want to feel the need to wake up early to take full advantage of my day, even though it means only getting a few hours of sleep a night.
I want to be so absorbed in my surroundings that I don’t have the time or bandwidth to plan, I just walk, run, twist my head and with every bend, every turn, every staircase, I come across a smell, sight, face, that broadens my worldview, changes or strengthens my opinions.
And I want to do it all on my own terms. Wandering around with no itinerary because none is needed, with no one to whom I must answer. No work that must be done. No facts that must be learned except the ones I need in order to answer the questions freely floating around in my mind.
And I want this so badly.
I feel it so deep in my being that it tugs on what can only be my heartstrings, playing chords and unraveling tunes that I will continue to hear unless I feed this hunger, this melodic growling that keeps me freezing my leftovers for later, buying things only on sale, and eating haphazard, cost-effective meals just so I can feed this other hunger that demands a plane ticket to satisfy it.
Because no matter where I walk, it doesn't seem far enough.
10 miles and I'm restless an hour after.
I think it's because my mind is restless too. But mustn't I come to terms with the different ebbs and flows of life? I can't live in one big want, after all.
So therefore, in the present, I must somehow temporarily appease this want; this desire for the ragged that currently exists. I have to be present, both appreciating the solace that my current rest gives me by remembering to be grateful for the time I spend reading and reflecting, as well as searching for rest’s more ragged parts.
So in the supposed narrowing of the hourglass that is my life right now, I must widen it again by walking out my front door and searching for a bit of the ragged, of the adventure, to bring back a bit of how alive I feel when ragtag exploring.
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And so I started running again recently, trying to imagine those stairwells, streets, tunnels; summoning that unbeatable feeling of setting your eyes on the wholly new. Being surprised by what it is.
What it is not.
So I've been running. A lot. Trying to get that feeling. The feeling of new. The feeling of adventure. Of the ragged.
and I ended up running a half-marathon in April. Up a mountain. In Helen. With one of my best friends with whom I've been running for 7 years now. And it was an adventure.
Abating the hunger.
But it's back already. Last night, I ran-walked for 3 hours looking for adventure. I walked in neighborhoods I hadn't explored yet. I went to Posman Books and looked at Atlas Obscura, National Geographic's book detailing the best runs in the world, Lonely Planet's guide to hiking.
I walked back to my apartment on the Beltline, stopping and walking every time I saw something unique. And I did something I've been wanting to do ever since I moved to Atlanta: I introduced myself to the well-dressed man who sits by Inman Park with a glass of wine, a cigar, and some jazzy music, more nights than not.
We talked for a while. And it was a good night. I felt adventure.
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So in order to balance the rest with the ragged, I must put to proper use the food I choose to eat by running more miles than I think I can, or go on a walk in an unknown part of my city after work. A bit of a change from waltzing around an island in the middle of the Danube River, or running around the city of Oxford at night, but I can still sometimes discover pieces of who I will be in the places outside my front door.
There are bars filled with neighbors I need to meet who will become my friends and make me feel more grounded. There are trails that need walking so I can clear my mind of the clouds that prevent questions and their conclusions from falling on the earth of my imagination and warming the soil that grows the crops therein. For I can stir up bits of myself by whipping up a dish in my own kitchen that I’ve never made just as well as I can find them at the bottom of a bowl of food cooked by another across the globe.
And so I must seek to find the rest in the ragged and the ragged in the rest in my current day-to-day, whether that day-to-day is a weekday job in an American city or living in cheap hostels in Eastern Europe.
After all, all I wanted after a 22km hike through a Slovenian national forest with a 70lb bag on my back was a really delicious meal and a good night’s sleep, and after sitting at a desk all day all I want is to get outside and move.
So as I continuously learn and grow to appreciate the rest (as I confess I get considerably tired of her considerably quickly), I can't ever be afraid to throw myself back into the truly ragged. My longing for faraway adventure may not always be practical, but I can at least seek to find some of that same feeling of adventure out my front door. Abating the hunger until I once again have the chance to throw myself into the wilderness; the complete unknown.
For adventure is a calling very intrinsic to who I am, much like caring for and appreciating our Earth is. I must follow it if I am to find my contentedness.
But balancing contentedness with consistently moving towards goals is incredibly difficult.
so then maybe that's my next question. :)