A lot tumbles through my head in a day, and a great deal of it gets mentally earmarked with, “Write a post about it.”
Sometimes that stuff is just about a thing that happened in my day, funny or weird, annoying or enjoyable. Others it’s a conversation I had (or overheard, even) that has continued running in my head long after the actual speaking ended. Still other times I’ve written a post and I’m bugged by an urge to write more on it, afraid that I haven’t adequately articulated my point or argument.
Then there are those times when I feel like I should write more about my life as part of 10 Cities / 10 Years. That is, obviously, the impetus for creating this blog in the first place, but I feel that maybe only 1 in 10 posts has anything to do with my project. I’ve always hated writing about myself, but I can’t very well produce a book about 10 years of my life and ignore, well, me.
I should write more in general, I know. ‘Should’ in this sense is a rather nebulous word, but the writers in the crowd know what I mean. A writer has never produced enough. There is no magic number of pages or books at which a writer can say, “Finally, all done.” Infinity is the goal, and every day short of it is failure.
Maybe I should tell you about my life right now. Even though I don’t know who you are. Friends? Family? Coworkers? Acquaintances? Fellow bloggers? Strangers? Someone who googled “F. Scott Fitzgerald“? Maybe nobody at all.
Thought interjection: People like the idea of things more than the things themselves.
What do you want to know? I’m a month and a half out from moving to New Orleans. Less than two months left in Seattle. Less than a year ago, I was living in Nashville. I was in Chicago before that, San Francisco before, Costa Mesa before, Philadelphia before, Charlotte before, Kansas before it all. I’ve gotten old doing this. I’m still young.
I haven’t found an apartment in NOLA yet, but hopefully I’ve found a roommate. I haven’t found work there yet, but I haven’t started looking. It’s kind of hard to apply for a job that you can’t even start for nearly two months.
Hmm, what else? My best friend from college is getting married in September which will mean I return back to Kansas for a few days for the first time since the previous catastrophe. I’ll probably write about that. Some friends from Chicago should be coming to visit in a month. I’ll probably post something about that then, too.
Yes, I’m ready to move. When I do, I’ll do my best to sum up my year in Seattle and my thoughts on it in a post. Even this close to the end, it’s still too early. I’ll miss some people once I go. Others, not so much. And a month after I’m gone, people here won’t even think about my absence. This is how it goes.
It goes and it goes, and goes.
And 7 years are over. Then 8. 9. And 10. And what do I do after that?
Write. Because infinity stretches out before me, and some days I barely take a step.