It came as expected. With the first few yellow leaves, with the last warm night spent on the balcony, with the sudden change of weather. I waited all summer for my world to finally slow down – and it did. It was perfect. Autumn came in the most beautiful of ways; gentle, smiling, maybe a little bit shy.
This extremely hectic year is finally coming to an end – in my calendar, at least. I’m not even trying to imagine what the next one will bring.
There’s so much happening recently I don’t even have enough time to write about it.
I’ve got five hundred in twenties
And I’ve got a ton of great ideas
I’m really worked upI’m on a good mixture
I don’t wanna waste it
I’m on a good mixture
I do not wanna waste it
Two weeks have passed since the last time I had enough time to sit down and think. There’s no such thing as abandoning the summer’s pace; my mind just won’t slow down by itself; not by telling it to do so. As crazy as it sounds, I’ve been impatiently waiting for the colder, less sunny days to come. Waiting simply because I knew I couldn’t handle the summer craziness much longer, and the long dark evenings seemed the only antidote.
The autumn days… they don’t change anything at the first sight. Sure, the cold rain means no more summer clothes, no more light shoes – but there’s something deeper; something running in our minds independently of the normal train of thought. The autumn makes us all act different.
I never gave it much thought – at least not until my sister called me today. She mentioned how she just stocked up on food and coal – and how illogical it seemed to her. I could only sympathize, as I did the same this week – my fridge is full for the first time since the spring, and I bought a huge pile of warm blankets, pillows and tea mugs at IKEA just a few days ago.
Even when we don’t realize it, we’re preparing for the colder days.
PS. I mentioned the calendar thing at least twice. I honestly believe the Gregorian calendar we’re using is completely out of alignment with anything we live by; it’s moderately useful as a tool but irrelevant for us as humans.
I was born in July. All my life I found something strange about celebrating my birthday: it was hardly a celebration. It took me 26 years to realize it’s not a problem with me, but with the month. July combines several things that, together, are a disaster:
This, together, caused the experience to be miserable every single time. Every year I long towards the end of the summer more and more. Not for it to end – that would be foolish – but for the few days where you can already relax after that exhausting summer and the days are still warm enough that you can.
My year starts on September. It’s the moment I shed the summer skin, go back to what’s most important to me, when I regain control over my life after a period of craze. The year, viewed this way, starts with a calm, fruitful period, moves on to the Christmas time and winter, then the tiring and weird spring, and finally the hectic summer which feels like a wild party.
I could go on like this much longer. Instead, I’ll dust off my old trusty Kindle and try to find a good book on the subject.
PS. I promise not to get existential on my blog too often. ;)
Then that morning comes when you run out of coffee; when the alarm clock doesn’t ring but you get woken up by the cold anyway. The morning when you turn the heaters half a notch up. The morning when you don’t bother to open the blinds because well… you know it’s raining.
It’s one of those rare evenings when things seem so perfect I can hardly believe it. There I was, curled up under a warm blanket, drinking ginger tea, the happiest man in the world. And then, browsing the net randomly, I came upon a music store selling rare post rock LPs for bargain prices. I checked the address.
Wrocław. Literally two blocks away from my house.
I’m living a fucking dream.
Another Monday and the same story repeats itself: there’s so much happening in my life I can barely think about just how much is happening. I’ve been patching the memories up from photographs, blog posts, calendars and letters. It’s going to take me some time to really appreciate just how beautiful this summer was.
Another day spent in front of Lightroom, scanning, sorting and editing my old photographs. The process is so arduous it seems never-ending; it’s only the librarian-grade bookkeeping that reassures me I’m actually going to finish this task some day and that I’m indeed making progress.
It’s my way of facing the past. The story of the last three years of my life… I’ve never told it to anyone; at least not the whole of it. I think I’ve made more mistakes than I ever wanted in my life; caused more pain, confusion and tears than I’d ever wish upon anyone. It wasn’t like that all the time – but the joyous days, parties and summers were inevitably intertwined with episodes I’d wish I could save for myself… while at the same time I fucking wish I could just get it all out, in the blue, and lift this shameful emotional baggage off my shoulders once and for all.
Painstakingly tagging arranging the photos and folders in chronological order, a story starts to emerge. What has been a tangled mess is straightening up; periods that were a haze start to emerge in scraps, in snapshots often captured by strangers, snapped on mobile phones and long forgotten. People, places, situations, good and bad times… everything, captured on film, coming back to life a little bit every time I look at the recorded memories.
Perhaps this is why I’m carrying the camera with me all the time.