Some Moments Like This.kellyclarsonz

There are times that I forget this experience is going to end.  Then I have conversations that bring the actual world back into focus.  The world where being in London is not always going to be a reality, the world where people disappear on flights and probably won’t be seen again, the world where you can fall so hard and hit the pavement and there’s no way to get back up without forcing yourself to take that step off the ground. 

I have conversations like this:

Facebook Chat with Rachel DeFoe

JOSH:             My weekend was a lot of fun.  Punctuated by a great movie, a roller disco, and a ton of fireworks.   Not much wrong with that picture.

RACHEL:       Oohhh that sounds randomly fun.  YES about coffee/lunch because we leave in less than 6 weeks now and that makes me sooo sad.

JOSH:             Wait.  That’s not real. 

Nope.  I won’t believe it. 

You can’t make me.

She made me.

But you have to be thankful, grateful for moments like these.  Without them, you’d have nothing to hold on to when your feet actually have to touch the ground.    

I call my dad.  He doesn’t pick up so I leave him a voicemail.  (Miss you, dad!)

I call my mom (mumsy) and tell her I’ve been upset.  She tells me to keep being a sponge.  I realize she’s right.  ‘Absorb it, Josher.  Take it all in.’ I tell her I will.  ‘I know you will,’ she replies.

I think you have to look for the moments that remind you that you can still be you even in a place so far, far away from the radiant warmth of wherever you call home.  It’s those moments, the ones where you realize you’re still you, that help keep you grounded here and in touch with the world back home.  Believe me, I am the first advocate for immersing yourself in your present experiences—IMPULSIVE, remember!—but when you don’t remember who you are, the little events that happen in everyday life can serve as one hell of a brutal reminder that, hey, you are still actually you and that’s not going to change.  I have moments like this all the time.

Like yesterday, for example, I had a very typical ‘Josh’ moment.  When I was alone in the IES Centre, just waltzing on my way to grab some water from the cooler before class, I managed to trip down a flight (YES AN ENTIRE FLIGHT) of stairs.  I stumbled down on step which turned into a panicky trot that slipped into a jumbling of feet and knees, and turned into all fours on the stairs and an actual barrel roll down the last few steps.  I stood up immediately, mortified at the thought that someone would have seen me.  Luckily, I seemed to go unnoticed.  Then, I laughed.  I actually laughed so hard I shook.  I mean, how me is tripping down a flight of stairs?  Clumsy, klutzy Josh.  Goodness.  It somehow felt so good to be me, even if being me meant rug burn on my left knee.  Good times!

I watched this Youtube video of me doing a slightly intoxicated version of Rose’s Turn on an empty tube car. It’s called Jacque’s Vlog #9.  I swear that she carries that flip camera at the most inopportune times.

Then there was today on the bus.  I never, never take the bus anywhere, primarily because I am so impatient (working on it, I swear!).  But today, for some reason, I decided that it would be nice to read the last few chapters of my book on the way back to the residence hall and I couldn’t accomplish that on the sweating, crowded underground.  So after nine 38s in a row and a 55, the 19 rolls around and is basically empty. Joy!  I climb to the top and watch for a brief moment as the umbrella shop passes outside the window of the bus.  It’s a cool little place, I think.  It must get crazy busy in this wet city.  Anyway, I pull out my earphones and open up to page 371 of ONE DAY by David Nicholls.  The stores pass outside and the pages turn with a crinkly eagerness by someone who is mentally engaged in the classic ‘end-of-the-book’ debate.  Do you keep reading at your normal pace and finish this fantastic work, or do you take it slow and savor it to the very last page?  I never savor.  I just want to know everything.  And every time I read the last sentence of a great novel, I think, why didn’t I slow down?!  Some people never learn.  So I read on, bravely.  And then, just 10 or so minutes into my 45 minute bus ride, I finish page 385 and start bawling in my seat.  Fucking authors.  Why, why, why?!  I won’t say why, just know that I was upset…clearly. 

Right, so I am train wreck.  Luckily, the bus was still pretty vacant, and the only people around were in the far back of the top level.  The worst was when people would board, climb the stairs, and stare at my puffy face with a mixture of curiosity, pity, and discomfort.  What do you say to crying twenty something rifling through the pages of novel on a bus?  Apparently you say nothing.  And that was just fine by me.  When I get back to the hall, I have a measly 6 pages left so I sit on my bed, finish my book, and ruffle my lips as I fall back on to my bed. 

Crying after reading a phenomenal book while in a public place.

Yep, still me.