Twenty-five is a strange age. It’s been a weird year. I’m constantly trapped between feeling like a child and an almost-adult. “Grown-up” decisions to be made will jump in front of me a dozen times a week, but when I’m finding my own things to choose between they normally range from which ice-cream flavor to buy or what color shoes I should wear that day. Temporary trivial decisions. So, then I’m always sent a little shock down my spine when the reality of life comes clearly into view. How fleeting time can be. How cruel illness can be. The wonders of the body, medicine, the modern world. And they all seem to play parts against each other. Some vicious cycle. I’d rather just fill my ears with good music, and the sounds of strangers in bustling places with the sights of random activities , people and things all blending together representing vibrant life. To be alive. Being sick is so crippling because the things I get my energy from, running, going to the gym, wandering around killing time exploring – all those things are put on some sort of hiatus when I’m sick, and I feel so…confined. So stuck. And then everything that’s out of sorts in life stares back at me while I stare at the ceiling from my bed.
When I don’t like where I am, then I don’t want to be still. (And sometimes, even when I do like the place I’m in, I won’t be still either because I want to see all there is to see before it disappears.) I don’t want to be still today. I want to move and create, and I want to forget about this nagging, gut wrenching cough persistently appearing every minute or so. Distance seems to be the prominent theme in my life lately. Everything feels just out of reach. Geographically, I’m always miles away from where I wish I was. And the people I would choose to spend my days with are far away as well. No man is an island, but this peninsula is suffocating.