Flying

This is the time when I start crawl out of the abyss.  I won’t crawl for long.  The door at the back of my mind will open, and my fantasies, once merely and barely sustaining, will soon have me rocketing into the firmament.  

Sunday, as I drove home from Manchester, cursing the flood of tourists that had made my favorite haunts temporarily unavailable, I had the first inkling that I was at this threshold.  Caution still wraps me in reason, but that bond was already beginning to fray on Sunday as I began exploring my options for a new haunt.  Unfounded and unfettered exhilaration awaits just beyond my cave, and soon I’ll be soaring on those limitless ideas and possibilities – no matter how remote.  

In five minutes, I went from restaurant refugee to searcher of new solutions to creator of them:  We need a good cafe in Arlington.  Something with sofas and wifi and pastries.  How about Cambridge?  Is there anything there?  There’s the old Beanheads.  I bet I could turn that into a hopping’ internet cafe.  I love to bake.  I could go there everyday.  There could have a guest DJ.  We could have music.  How hard would it be to get really good at the piano again?  I’d love to do another animation with music.  It would be so cool to make the music for my animations.  Can you be a writer and a film maker?  It be cool to have an independent movie theatre slash bookstore cafe.  In Cambridge or Arlington.  Wait… where am I going?

There is a small plateau between my deep dark cave and the dizzying heights I am about to scale.  I should tarry and even stay, but I have never been able to stop for long – regardless of the ways I’ve tried to bind myself here.  Propelled by possibility,  I’m already skipping over the plain –  anticipating and fearing the flight and the fall that I know will – and must – come.  Now, when my battles are beginning to brim with potential, danger is not always apparent and simply choosing one over the other is an important victory.

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