Against the Wind

The sun is shining again today, and the air is still warm.  There's a strong breeze that takes my hair and tosses it about my shoulders.  The sky is filled with small, fluffy clouds, whose whiteness emphasize the beauty of the bright blue above me.  I am filled with a feeling that must somehow be the child of sorrow and hope.  I climb the steps of the Burcht, an old abandoned fort where the inhabitants of Leiden once fled flood waters.  And I feel as if I too am somehow fleeing from a rising tide.

The Burcht is round and its crumbling rock walls look out over the entire town.  I am reminded of a time, long ago on the calendar, but just a moment ago in my mind, when I walked the walls surrounding Rothenburg, a small Bavarian town.  My mind was filled with questions, and fears, and hopes about the future.  I felt then what I feel now: a slight sadness around the edges of hope, a constant movement in my mind that I can't slow down.

I feel, as I run my fingers over the rough, sun-warmed stone, that the entirety of my life has led me to this spot, to this moment.  For most of my life I have let the wind carry me.  I have not doubted the future, even when I was most uncertain of where I might land.  I have always felt that the wind somehow knew better how my life was to be lived.  I had only to spread my wings, and I would be taken to the future I was meant to have.

However, as I stand above the city with the wind once again in my hair, I see the sacrifices I have made by not using the power of my own wings.  And I begin to wonder if I should leave the strange comfort of the wind.  

The past year has been very difficult for me.  I don't think this is uncommon for people my age.  The predictable routines of school life, of college life, are taken suddenly away from us, and we are asked to make painful (though exciting) decisions.  Where are we going to live?  How are we going to live?  When do we actually get to start living, and not just surviving? 

When I graduated, I was sick of Egyptian history, sick of scholarship.  But I was also lost.  Ready for something different, but not sure what.  I started out on a new, albeit similar, path, but the wind blew me back into the arms of the past.

Now I'm here and I'm not so sure if this path is for me anymore.  As I gaze out over the city below me, my eyes are drawn mostly to the horizon.  I don't know how much longer I want to spend staring back into the past.  I started this work because I felt being connected to the people of the past could connect us to the people of today.  But somewhere I got lost. Somewhere along the way I forgot to pay attention to the present.  To the future.  I floated along on my jet streams, certain of the path I was taking, never looking ahead.  Perhaps it's time to have some faith in myself.  To fly against the wind.

I slowly return to the streets below.  They are filled with people, laughing and drinking.  I notice the tiny toes of a baby curl and uncurl, his blue eyes staring up at the sky with the awestruck silence of extreme youth.  I pass a woman wearing a pink hat, sitting at a table with a yellow cloth over it.  A calico cat lounges in the doorway.  From an open window, a trumpet suddenly calls to me.  The blues pouring down upon me like perfumed water.  I stop to breathe it in.  My soul resonates with the mournful sound, and is lifted up again.  I am filled with the blues, but not just the sorrow, the heartbreak, the regret.  I am filled also with the strength, the determination, the hope that electrify the music. 

I don't know what the future holds, and I'm not so certain anymore.  I don't doubt that I'll be happy.  I don't doubt that I'll find love.  I don't doubt that what I do will be fulfilling and rewarding.  Life is filled with joy, and I intend on drinking as deeply as I can from that cup.

But I realize now I must stretch my wings and tell the wind which way I'm headed.