I strolled campus to run a few errands in the midday sunshine. Strolling is not yet the casual pastime of yore, as my gammy leg still is untrustworthy, and much vexed by the 30 cm of snow received over the weekend. The rivulets, streams and mountains of slush required close attention as I circumnavigated a couple of blocks, dropping in for croque madame here, switching up library books there, and taking the sunniest route possible back to the office. Most of the people out and about had the same paralyzed look on their faces as they greeted lake after lake of slushy stuff; climbing into adjacent snowbanks, which although they were deeper, were more solid that - ew! - water. The free spirits in their burberry fashion rubber boots jumped in with glee, while the street shoe clad ones fretted on the curbs. There is no where for this stuff to drain!
I'm sure I too held a stern expression while I gingerly stepped, slower than most; in a flash, this was completely shattered when I happened past a subway entrance I use as a shortcut. Among the crowds exiting where I wanted to enter were four young girls, walking up the stairs backwards. It's the first day of March break, and although they seemed destined for some great cultural excursion, it was clear they had already achieved the day's highlight - it didn't require $20 admission, no coats being checked, nor endless stimulation. They were making a challenge and a game of something they use everyday - only today they'd made it that little bit different. Their giggles and joy at getting to the top of the stairs backwards caught me, and flipped my focus - to the simplicity of journeys and who you take with you. Getting there is more than half the fun.
Things are getting out of control, and the solution seems to be massive amounts of hilarity around here. My partner and I are spending lots of time together, focusing on the task at hand ( and the mounting lists of tasks at hand, to be more accurate), but there is an undercurrent of carefree, silly, let's-just-get-outta-this-town about it all. Oh sure, the 16 week clock is a-tickin', and while it may be too early to count sleeps, it's not too early to book movers, plan a party, host a parental visit, take 3 more courses, pack up a home - all while working full time til the bitter end. Oddly, this all seems quite manageable - especially in light of the cross country trek to start a new phase of our lives. The mechanics are a breeze - the big picture should be more unsettling - but it's like the delirium that sets in when you're in full high fever mode - you are just gunning for the thrill of the ride. I've just seen the film "Death at a Funeral (2007)" which features a brilliant performance by Alan Tudyk as a lawyer who'd been slipped some hallucinogenic drugs in error prior to attending a family funeral of his in-laws; much nudity ensues, but it this beatific expressions on his face and the wonder of the world in its simplicity that floored me. Imagine if we walked around, taking the time to notice the greenery of leaves by smashing our entire heads into a hedgerow? Friday night a storm blew up in the city during rush hour; I found myself walking through the busy streets amazed at the sudden transformation - I stuck out my tongue for two full blocks catching fresh snowflakes before I realized what I was doing - and the beauty and freedom of the daring to do exactly what I wanted when I wanted - that's what I want more of, that's part of what the move is about, inching closer to the dream.
